


Cosa Nostra

by AgentInfinity



Series: Cosa Nostra [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-21
Updated: 2013-11-23
Packaged: 2017-11-19 04:40:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 55,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/569196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentInfinity/pseuds/AgentInfinity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alessa is a fierce hunter, and just so happens to talk to an angel in her dreams.  When she's told to find Dean Winchester to help battle the forces of hell, well, she's skeptical, but chance or fate or possibly her angel steps in to take the choice out of her hands.  Now something's drinking babies, she's got some weird mind link with Dean, and her carefully-guarded past life is starting to come into the light.  Also, Dean's turning out to be a real pain in the ass.</p><p>This is a vastly different re-telling of season five after Dean and Sam split up in episode two.  I'm changing the apocalypse, ya'll.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first foray into the world of writing fanfiction, but my main OFC got into my head and started breaking things, so I figured I should tell her story so she'd calm down a little. There will be violence and mentions/flashbacks to hell/sexual assault from both Dean and Alessa, but I'll try to warn for any instances of those in each chapter.

The picnic table was rough with splinters under Dean's cold hands. The Colorado air already had a bite to it, even though it was just mid-September. He pulled his jacket closer around his shoulders and tried to convince himself that the ice in his bones was from the chill and not from watching Sam walk away.

His eyes were still following the truck with his brother inside pull out of the rest stop. The brother who Dean still had every inclination to not let out of the safety of his reach. The brother who also had an addiction to demon blood and had set Lucifer free.

The circumstances surrounding Lucifer's big bust out of the cage was the worst part. With so many forces gunning for the apocalypse, Lucifer rising was something they would have eventually had to face. He could admit that now. Dean picked at the graffiti carved into the table – two sets of initials with a deformed heart around them – and thought about the pure rage in his brother's eyes when he beat Dean's head into the floor so he could leave, get juiced up on some demon blood, and kill Lucifer's right-hand demon.

Of course, the sacrifice of said right-hand demon allowed Lucifer to roam free instead of keeping him in his cage.

Of course.

Every hunt he had been on with Sam since that day had been mentally disastrous for him. He spent his every moment watching for signs that Sam was relapsing back into his addiction. Dean could see how hungry he was for the power boost despite Sam's insistence that he was fine. He wasn't fine and deep down, Sam knew it too. When you spend your life hunting down supernatural beings, distractions and lack of trust could get you killed faster than anything.

In the end, that was what broke them apart. Dean had lost faith in Sam, and Sam had lost faith in himself. Apart was a better option than distracted and dead. So, Sam was heading out to the first town he found to work on his anger and his addiction.

When the truck had completely disappeared into the horizon, Dean finally stood up and made the trek to his car. If he could just let go of Sam, life would be so much easier. Sadly, that ability wasn't built into his DNA. The last thought he had before he cranked up the Metallica tape in the stereo was that he had failed Sam. He had failed his little brother. He almost turned around and chased down the truck at that thought, but in the end, he started to sing along with Hetfield and began the eastward trek. That rougarou in Lincoln wasn't going to torch itself.


	2. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alessa and Dean meet. Twice. And there are vampires.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Violence and sex in this chapter. Nothing major. The sex scene is fit for HBO, and the violence is pretty standard for the show. Some talk of suicidal ideation, though.

Someone was calling Alessa's name. She wasn't sure how this person got inside her hotel room, but she couldn't see much of anything at that moment, so fighting them off wasn't really an option anyway. Her head was hazy from the concussion, and of course, the sleeping pills she had just swallowed dry weren't helping.

“Who're...you? How'd ya get'n here?” she slurred. Her heart rate was starting to slow down, and her constant headache was abating. She briefly thought that the shape-shifter she had spent the past few days hunting had come back from the dead to finish killing her. She had barely been able to take it down, but in the end, it had died. She was sure of it.

So, who had followed her back to her room? She let her head fall back and hit the floor next to the toilet. It didn't matter who was trying to kill her now. They had missed their chance. She beat them to the punch.

The fall she was attempting into the blank nothingness was interrupted by a soft hand on her forehead. Warmth rushed through her head and down into her chest and limbs. It felt like someone was running bath water over her entire body, but instead of water engulfing her, it was energy. She gasped and sat up, her head no longer foggy and the effects of the sleeping pills gone. In fact, as she shifted her body around, there was no pain anywhere. The cuts on her hands and arms were merely tiny, silver scars, and her dislocated knee, which she had thanked...whatever deity was up in the sky that it was her left one so she could still drive back to the hotel after the fight, was back in perfect working order.

“You're welcome,” a voice from her left startled Alessa out of the silent injury inspection, and she looked up to see a woman with long black hair and piercing green eyes sitting on the side of the bathtub. She had a slight frame and was wearing something Alessa herself might have worn these days. Gone were the days of power suits and ball dresses paid for by the Family. Now it was whatever was cheap or easy to take.

“Thanks,” Alessa said in a very non-thankful tone. “What do you want?” Alessa thought about trying to get to a weapon, but they were all lying on the table in the bedroom, and she still kind of had a death wish.

“To make sure you stay on your destined path. Suicide is not on that path.” The girl didn't seem to mind the rude tone of the question. She only smiled and slid off the edge of the tub to the floor. The motion seemed more smooth that it should have been.

“So, you're not human,” Alessa remarked. “What are you?” She leaned back against the tile wall and let the coolness seep into her skin. Stripping down had seemed like a good idea when she was stumbling around covered in blood. Looking down, she noticed that her ripped pants had been repaired and were devoid of any stains - blood, dirt or otherwise. The underwire in the bra she was wearing had also magically stopped poking her in the side.

“I'm Eloa, an angel of the Lord. I was sent here to save you from yourself so you can follow your...”

“Destiny. Yeah, I got that.” Alessa was trying to wrap her mind around the existence of angels. “How do I know you're an angel?”

“I healed you and washed the chemicals from your blood. Is that not enough proof? The Lord conducted his grace through me and into you, and you were made whole again.”

“Yeah, well witches and demons can do all kinds of nifty-looking shit, but it isn't holy and it definitely isn't free.” Eloa scrunched her face into a surprisingly attractive expression of repulsion and tsk'ed. Actually made the “tsk' noise.

“I am _nothing_ like those abominations.” Alessa found herself thinking the... _angel?_ was sort of cute. In a child-like way. Then the words, 'you were made whole,' hit her and she groaned.

“I'm not, like, a virgin again am I?” Eloa looked perplexed and shook her head.

“No, you are not a virgin. Just as all of your scars are still present. They tell the stories of your life. Those will not be taken away.” There was nothing really to say to that. Her scars _did_ tell stories. Mostly horrible and painful ones, but stories nonetheless.

“Are you ready to hear what I have been sent to tell you?”

“Other than the whole 'you have a destiny' thing? Sure,” she shrugged. Eloa took a long second to look into her eyes, and Alessa found herself being drawn into the comfort and warmth she found there.

“You are not going to be alone forever. Heaven has a plan for you. We will guide you toward the final fight between good and evil, and when it is done, you will be rewarded with paradise.” The angel smiled at Alessa, and she had to fight to stop herself from smiling back. She shook her head and scrunched her eyes closed.

“You are on some serious drugs, lady. First of all, who said I thought I'd be alone forever? And second of all, _I_ am going to be in the final fight between good and evil? The final fight. The apocalypse? The fucking apocalypse.” Alessa scoffed. “Don't you know I almost killed myself tonight? You really know how to talk someone over the ledge.” She took a deep breath trying to calm her breathing and wiped a hand over her face. “Listen, I have no one left, so that whole 'being alone' thing was true. Point for you. But, the big end-of-the-world bash? How can I possibly have any impact on that?” Alessa stood up and put her hands on her hips.

“You are special, Alessa. You have great power inside you. Heaven has guided you through your life so that you will be ready when the time comes.” Eloa gracefully stood up and walked to Alessa, putting her hands on her shoulders. Her grip was light, but the strength that had been condensed into this tiny, girl-shaped package was overwhelming. She felt like she was being pinned in place. “You need to find Dean Winchester. Show him that he must side with heaven if we are to win the great war.”

Alessa blinked at that. That was wrong. That never happened.

She woke with a start and sat straight up in bed. The dream of the angel, if it was an angel, who had visited her over a year ago had never changed. Sometimes, on nights when she let herself believe that Eloa was actually an angel of the Lord, she idly wondered if heaven sent her those dreams from time to time so she couldn't pretend it never happened. There had been no other seemingly angelic contact or assistance since that night back in 2007. If not for the periodic dreams, it would have been easy to write it off as an hallucination. Maybe her sleeping pills had actually been switched with some hallucinogen. _A hallucinogen with magical healing properties._

She didn't even want to think about what kind of “great power” she had inside of her.

Alessa had a headache.

Dean Winchester. That was what the dream angel had said. She had heard of him. He was that hunter who had died more than a few times and apparently had an evil brother or something who had also died more than a few times. Perhaps he had an angel too. Perhaps she was losing her fucking mind.

She checked the clock and figured that five hours of sleep was enough rest to make it to Des Moines. She'd found evidence of a vampire nest there, and was itching for a good fight to get her blood pumping.

***  
Alessa gripped the steering wheel of her dark red 1971 Chevelle so tightly that she could almost feel it starting to give under her grip. She was sitting in the parking lot of the Des Moines Police Department and counting to twenty trying to get her anger under control. Funnily enough, when she had been a caporegime for the Philly Family, she had more opportunities to take out her frustrations on people than when life had thrown her into hunting monsters regularly.

Thinking about her family made her anger spike even higher, but she had been trained to keep her emotions under control from a young age. Counting to twenty once more should do the trick. She let her mind go blank, the place she usually reserved for sighting a target down the barrel of a gun, and let all the memories be pushed down. The cops who had ignored her insistence that she was from the FBI. The ones who leered at her because she was a pretty girl, and obviously not someone who needed to see the bloodless corpses in the down in the morgue. The ones a few years ago who told her, “Daddy won't ever be coming home, and if we can, we'll make sure you go down too, you lousy, worthless whore.”

This wasn't helping. She made herself let go of the steering wheel and waited for the feeling to come back into her fingers before throwing the car into drive and burning rubber out of the parking lot. The face of the cop who'd told her they needed to talk to her superior while grabbing her ass entered her mind. He'd been so surprised when she hooked her arm across his chest and taken his feet out from under him. Alessa smirked and felt a bit more relaxed. _Okay, maybe it's the little things._

She would sneak into the morgue after dark to get a look at the bodies, but right now, it was time to go talk to some of the victims' families.

***

The bar Alessa was currently sitting in was, in every way, a shithole. There were some interesting stains on the walls to her right, and the table was actually sticky. Not the normal, hole-in-the-wall diner sticky. More like 'I-just-dropped-a-whole-container-of-honey-on-your-table' sticky. The only positive thing it had going for it was it was the first bar she came across after talking to grieving families all day and sneaking into the morgue. Sympathy was not something of which she had copious amounts. So naturally, listening to people tell her, 'her' being Special Agent Ford, repeatedly how wonderful and sweet their loved one had been was a drag. After six interviews, she was no closer to finding the nest, and she really wanted to kill something.

Preferably with her bare hands, but really, any weapon would do. As soon as she found the vamps' whereabouts, she'd grab her sword, named Adi, from the trunk and blow off some steam. At least now she knew the culprits really _were_ vampires. Alessa sighed. When breaking into the morgue to look at exsanguinated corpses was the upside to your day, you knew your life had really taken a fucked-up turn somewhere.

She was sitting at a corner table so she could see the whole room, a habit she'd picked up from her father, when a guy, who actually made his black eye look handsome, strolled in like he owned the place. Maybe he did. He looked a little rough. Although, he _was_ certainly better looking than anyone already inside the dumpy, slightly smelly establishment. She finished off the whiskey neat she'd ordered and considered the newest patron.

He carried himself with confidence, like he knew how to fight and fuck and was ready for either. Alessa could relate. Maybe she could help him out with the latter. He was good-looking. He gave the bartender his order and then grinned at her, eliciting a blush and a laugh. She handed him a beer and what appeared to be her number and slipped to the other end of the bar to refill someone's glass. Rubbing a hand through his sandy hair and sighing, he took in the room. It seemed casual, but the look in his eyes was calculated, checking for threats, alternate exits, etc. Alessa had done the same thing; there was an exit behind the bar and another in the hallway by the restrooms, and a couple of the patrons looked slightly dangerous, but most of them just seemed the 'drunk-and-disorderly' type.

She watched him briefly look at every person in the room before he settled his gaze on her. Alessa quirked her lips into a sideways smirk, thinking, _yeah, he'll do to blow off some steam._ He gave her the same wolfish grin he'd just given the bartender before calling out another order to her. His eyes were still an indiscernible color in the low lighting, but Alessa could tell they were bright...sparkling with what he thought might be a challenge. She noticed his legs were slightly bowed as he made his way over to her table and took the chair beside her instead of the one opposite her. Sitting the drink down in front of her like an offering, he smiled.

“Hi there. I'm Dean.”

“Sara. Nice to meet you, Dean.” Alessa held out her hand and made sure to squeeze his hand as firmly as he did hers. He was still holding her hand, and she took the moment to notice that his skin was rough and fleetingly thought about how it'd feel on some of her other more sensitive body parts. When she shook herself out of those thoughts, she noticed that he was looking down at her hand with a furrowed brow. _The scars. Always a conversation starter._ To her surprise, however, he just relaxed his face and let her slip her hand out of his, lightly scraping the hard knot of scar tissue in the center of her palm against the slightly scratchy texture of his.

“So, what made you want to come to _this_ bar by yourself?” Dean seemed a bit more himself, whoever that was, and a lot less the womanizing act he walked in with. It was still possible to tell that he liked the ladies and was good at picking them up, but that appeared to just be a part of his “Dean-ness.”

“The atmosphere, obviously.” He huffed out a short laugh. “Actually, I'm not from around here. I was just passing through and had a craving for whiskey, and this was the first place I passed that served it.” That was more or less true. _Just passing through. Gonna go hunt some vampires later, but then I'll be leaving._ “And, I'm pretty confident in my self-defense skills.”

“You are, huh?” He reached over and lightly squeezed on her bicep, drawing his lips down at the edges and nodding a little. “Well, it's not all about muscle.” She looked over at him while taking a sip of her drink and raised an eyebrow.

“No. It's not _all_ about muscle.” Dean grinned at her again and shook his head. _He really does know how good he looks._

“I'm not from here either. Just stopped for a couple nights before I head out.” Alessa noticed the silent, 'So, if you want to have some no-strings-attached sex tonight, I'm game.'

“Well, Dean, why don't we put one of our hotel rooms to good use then?” His striking hazel eyes got wide, and his hand faltered a little bit around his beer while attempting to take a drink. It was not a night to play games or dance around the subject of sex. Tonight, Alessa needed to get off.

“You might be one of the most straight-forward one night stands I've ever had. Not much small talk, a name that's probably fake, and not any questions to make sure I'm not a psycho killer.”

“Well, we haven't made it to the 'stand' part of the one night stand yet, and like I said, I can handle myself.” A fierce look crossed her features. “What I want to know is if _you_ can handle me.” Dean's face was priceless. The crooked smile he'd been sending her way lost some of it's shine and froze there for a split second before he recovered.

“Darlin', I'd love to handle you. Your place or mine?” The gruffness he'd put on the 'darlin' was enough to fan the flames that had been building low in her belly into a wildfire. She could have sworn she'd just seen him adjust himself in his pants, so maybe the feeling was mutual.

“Mine's just a few miles away.” Without waiting for an answer, Alessa downed the rest of her drink and pulled her keys out of her pocket. “Think you can keep up?” Dean nodded and followed her out the door and into the cool air.

“Which one's yours?” He scanned the parking lot a bit, trailing behind her as she walked to the Chevelle.

“This one,” she said, wistful, lovingly stroking her hand along the driver's side door. He stilled and openly gawked.

“You're joking,” he croaked out. When she shook her head and unlocked the door, he actually stumbled over his words. “I, uh. Wow. I think I, yeah. I think I love you.” Alessa laughed and looked around at the other cars in the lot. _Hm, what would a connoisseur of muscle cars drive?_

“Nice Impala. Yours?” She pointed at the black car parked in the corner. Dean nodded, full of pride.

“Rebuilt her a bunch of times already. Couple times from scratch basically.”

“She's something.” A few seconds passed in silence. “So, you gonna follow me to my hotel or do you want me to leave you alone with my car for awhile?”  
***  
As soon as the door closed behind them, Sara had spun around and pressed Dean up against it. He groaned in the back of his throat and opened his mouth, her tongue reaching out and running across his bottom lip. Her kiss was dominating and heady, her hands reaching under his shirt to run along the small of his back and pull his hips closer. He couldn't stop the deep moan from escaping his lips, and truthfully, he really didn't want to.

His mind had a minor problem deciding whether to let her continue to run the show or take over the more dominant role he was used to. By the time he realized that she wasn't kissing him anymore but removing his jacket and shirt in two swift movements, he had also come to the conclusion that he was fine with whatever happened. Didn't matter. He just needed _more._

Sara stepped back and slipped her jacket and tank top off much in the same way she'd disrobed his torso seconds earlier. Dean reached out and pulled her back into him, sliding his hands around her back to undo the clasp of her bra. He took a moment to relish the sight of her bare from the waist up. She was thin and athletic, with breasts that would have looked small on a slightly bigger frame, but they definitely worked for her. Her eyes were dark in the lowlight and she crooked a finger at him and walked backward to the bed.

Dean knelt down and undid the button and zipper of her jeans while not taking his eyes off her. She was propped up on her elbows, watching him. The smirk her lips were forming a few seconds earlier had changed into a half-lidded grin that made him take a shuddered breath as he tugged her pants off. He started kissing and running his lips and tongue upward from the inside of her ankles to the insides of her thighs, making her head fall back onto the bed. He looked up then, noticing all of the scars that stood out silver against her olive skin now that they were closer to the bedside lamp. She had them all over her in varying sizes, shapes and, he was guessing, textures. He was resting his hand on one of them on her thigh. It was slightly pink and rectangular.

He never thought he'd find someone with more scars than him. Well, counting his current ones and the ones that had vanished after he returned from his trip to hell. He leaned down and ran his tongue across the scar on her leg and worked his way upward until his cheek was against her core, warm and inviting. She let her legs fall outward and ran her fingers through his hair. He moved up her body in a slow, predatory crawl, kissing and running his hands over every inch of skin he could reach. She sucked in a breath as he cupped and kneaded her breasts, leaving no part of them untouched or un-kissed. Her large, round eyes watched every move he made.

Sara's nails dug into the muscles of his back and he growled, biting down on the side of her neck right above the collar bone. In a sudden fight for dominance, she hooked her legs and arms around him and flipped them so that she was on top and he was pinned beneath her. If he didn't have five or so inches in height on her, the pin might have been more effective, but as it was, he had more than enough leverage to push them upward so that she was sitting in his lap with her tits pressed against his naked chest.

For a second, they just looked at each other, both panting and already slightly slick with sweat.

“So, are we gonna dance around this or fuck?” Dean laughed at her frankness and tangled his fingers in her silky, dark hair, pulling her in for a crushing kiss that left them both lip-swollen and breathless.

“Let's get down to business then.” Not allowing her any time to figure out what exactly was happening, Dean turned her on her back again, but this time, he was pulling her underwear off and settling her legs over his shoulders.

Dean licked at her until she was arching off the bed and rousing the people in the rooms adjacent with loud, unabashed moans. His hands were at her hips holding her as still as he could so he could take his time speeding up and slowing down, alternating between long, slow licks and short rough ones. She appeared to be coming apart at the seams, and he loved every minute of it. This was one of his favorite parts of sex. Watching girls lose their control when they were about to come. They always did it differently and it was always hot.

He pulled back and slipped his jeans and boxers down his legs, making sure to keep his gun hidden in the pile of clothing, and looked back at the bed. She was looking at him, her face flushed and breasts heaving, with a look so hungry that under different circumstances, he might have thought she was something that wanted to literally eat him. _God, she looks so good._

Dean would accept figurative consumption. She stood up and gave him another of her devouring kisses, and he felt that he would have her taste in his mouth for days to come. Spinning them around, she pressed him down to the bed underneath her, straddling him and reaching for the bag on the bed side table. The sheets were fever hot from where she'd just been writhing underneath his tongue. She continued to kiss along his neck and chest as she rolled the condom on and lowered herself onto him, hissing as she moved downward and took him in completely. _This must be what heaven's supposed to be like._

As she started to roll her hips up and down, Dean gripped her waist simply for something to hold on to. She was tight and wet and _perfect._

“Fuck,” she moaned. “Oh god, yes.” He started to bring her down harder and harder because something had to relieve the pressure that was sure to blow the top of his head off any minute. Soon, both of their voices were nothing but a stream of overlapping, broken pleas. _Faster, oh, like that...shit, right there, don't stop...so close..._

Dean came first, so hard that he saw stars behind his eyelids, vaguely realizing that she was still moving on top of him, her voice not even forming words anymore. He rubbed his thumb over her clit in circles with steady pressure, making her cry out and fuck him even harder into the mattress. When she came a couple minutes later, she let out a strangled shout and clenched him inside her so tightly, he wondered if he could come again so soon. Panting, she rested her palms on his chest for a moment, looking down at him and still moving her hips around a bit. A few seconds later, she rolled off and laid down on her back beside him.

“You should go pro in that, Deano,” she chuckled, still slightly out of breath.

“Likewise, Sara...o.” She laughed right out at that and stretched out on her side, away from Dean.

“My name's not Sara.” And with that, they both fell into a brief sleep, too sated to move any further.

Dean laid there semi-awake for an hour until Not Sara's breathing had evened out and and quickly got dressed. He didn't really think she'd be upset that he left while she was sleeping, but he didn't know. He didn't even know her name.

Not that it mattered.

He did cover her up before opening the door and allowing himself one last look.

“Goodbye, Dean. Thanks for the sex.” Her voice was quiet, but light with a smile. He chuckled and shook his head. 

“Bye, Not Sara.”

***

A few hours later, the good mood Dean had been in was gone. The cops in this city were assholes and used every opportunity to prove it. After going through all of the information the cops had gathered (instead of being told what was going on) and six interviews with victims' families, he had found nothing on the location of the vamp nest, and apparently the real FBI had been called in a day earlier since all of them felt the need to tell him they had already spoken with “the other agent.” The last interview was with a girl whose boyfriend had been taken the night before. Probably while Not Sara was riding him. He cleared his head of _those_ images and looked attentively at the girl he was supposed to be listening to.

“But, the other agent was already here today. She said I wouldn't have to go through this again,” the tear-stained face of the girl standing in front of Dean almost made him feel bad for poking at her painful memories again so soon, but he needed to find out where she and her boyfriend had been when the vampires attacked them.

“I know ma'am, but I'm her superior, and I'm just checking up on her information.” That wasn't the best lie Dean had ever come up with, but it would have to do now.

“She was really thorough. The weird things I told her were true. That wasn't her fault. Those really were the things I told her. It all happened like that, I promise.” She was going to start crying again. Dean needed to get the information fast before he spent the next hour consoling this woman. That was Sam's job. Except, Sam wasn't here. He sighed and sank down into her couch as he rubbed his eyes. Crying women made him uncomfortable and sad.

“What kinds of weird things?”

***

Alessa had spent fifteen minutes gaining the information she needed from the girlfriend of one of the vampires' victims, Ms. Parker, and _forty-five_ fucking minutes holding the crying, shaking, snotty mess the girlfriend had turned into.

She vaguely wondered if maybe she should try to find the compassion she lost so long ago, but it was a fleeting thought. She had been walking through the woods for two and a half hours trying to find the vampires' nest, and her irritation had been steadily growing as the sun sank lower and lower into the western sky. It had to have been blind luck that the last victim's girlfriend had gotten away in this forest at night. It had no trail to speak of, and was becoming ever harder to navigate in the failing light. _So much for wrapping this up today._ She had been listening to the police scanner that morning and sharpening her sword when the call came across that a man had been kidnapped during a camping trip and his girlfriend had gotten away. She had been so hopeful that this kidnapping was a product of the vampire attacks that maybe she'd jumped the gun a little.

Just as she had decided to turn back and return in the morning, a building came into view. It looked like an old ramshackle barn, but it was more likely remnants of a hunting camp. A place to store equipment and ATVs. There were a couple of small stone foundations still peeking out behind the weeds around the building. Remains of some cabins, maybe. She ventured closer, ever slowly, and saw evidence of squatters through a crack in the wall. Some stolen items, occupied makeshift beds and cots, and...a body tied to a post.

Yeah, this was the place. She realized that it was Parker's boyfriend, but he had blood around his mouth. They were turning him. She checked her watch. Fifteen minutes before sundown. _So, can I kill a nest of vampires in the next fifteen minutes while there's still a little daylight left?_ Sunlight didn't even kill these bastards.

“Just gives 'em a damn sunburn, an' pisses 'em off more,” an old hunter in a bar in Wyoming once told her. He'd died the next day trying to exorcise a demon. She watched them burn his body on a wooden pyre and scatter his ashes in the wind. A hunter's funeral. The funeral she might have someday.

But, not today. Today she was going to behead some bloodsuckers. She got to work rubbing the ashes of saffron, skunk's cabbage, and trillium on her clothing to help mask her scent. She needed some sort of cover if she was going to be running into a nest of vampires.

***

Dean tracked the movement of a group of _individuals_ who weren't necessarily people through the woods, hoping to make it to the nest before nightfall. He had gone in on the opposite side of the woods from where Tina Parker and her boyfriend had ventured in, hoping to cut some time off his hike. If it took them three hours of walking before they were attacked, then hopefully the back way in was faster. At least by an hour or so.

He felt bad for Tina. She had cried herself to sleep on his shoulder before he had silently covered her up with a blanket from the couch and snuck out of her house. The irony that he had done that twice in one day under two completely different circumstances was not lost on him. Tina's voice had been so broken. Lost. Being a hunter meant regularly dealing with people during the worst times of their lives, but every once in a while, one of them got to him. The day they stopped weighing on his heart was the day he supposed he became a monster himself.

After only an hour of tracking, he found the building where the vampires were staying. It was barely being held together by what looked like an ancient frame and nails, but really, he had squatted in worse places. He had no reason to judge them. Except for the fact that they were evil. He could judge them based on that.

Dusk was starting to set in, and he knew he had a very small window before the sun went down completely and he lost any advantages he might've had. They weren't even guaranteed to sleep during the day, he just hoped they had been busy enough last night terrorizing people that they were still passed out. He crept up to the back door and carefully worked the latch open with his penknife. He slipped inside the door and gripped the handle of his machete tightly. They were still asleep on old cots and such, but a few of them were rousing.

_Great._

He counted ten of them, not including the guy tied to a post. Tina's boyfriend. He looked like he'd been gulping blood slurpees. Poor Tina. She just wanted to go hiking, not get her boyfriend turned into a blood fiend.

Dean crouched low behind a post to try and figure out how to go about this. He'd never seen a nest so large before, and the numbers weren't adding up in his favor. Six vamps were sleeping near the front corner of the building on a large set of mattresses shoved together, three had set up some old cots on the other side under the loft, and the one he guessed was the leader was on a couple mattresses across from the back door where Dean had entered. A flash of movement drew his attention to the left and he saw a girl with a dark ponytail silently slide under the corner of a tarp covering a couple tractors.

He could only see her back, but in her right hand was a very large, very intimidating... _Turkish sword?_

Before he could get her attention and stop her from doing something extremely stupid, she lashed out, and brought her sword down across the closest vamp's neck, making a quick job of his death. She leapt over his body and let her momentum carry the sword through the one beside him, turned and sliced right through the neck of a third vamp who had chosen the wrong moment to lift his head up. _Okay, so seven left. Better than ten._

Dean had been so caught up in watching the still-faceless girl fight that he'd missed the movement behind him until someone's shadow fell over him. Adrenaline quickly surging through his body, he spun low, staying crouched, and swung his machete at the legs of his attacker. The nest's leader easily hopped over the swing of the blade and kicked out, catching Dean in the chest and knocking the air out of him. Dean turned slowly, still stunned and wheezing, trying to get some distance and hope that the anonymous hunter was still keeping the other six vamps entertained.

“Hunters. Here in our humble abode.” The vamp growled and Dean felt himself being lifted off the ground by the back of his shirt and tossed into a stack of wooden pallets. _I'm gonna have so many splinters in the morning._

When he half-rolled, half-fell out of the pile of jagged wood pieces, he saw the girl take out two more vamps without breaking a sweat, but now they were all awake and using the full extent of their souped-up abilities. The leader leaned down over Dean and grabbed him by the throat.

“I don't like hunters messing in my business. Not even brazen ones who vastly overestimate their skills.” Pain exploded through Dean's face as the vampire punched him in the same eye the rougarou had hit with a table lamp four days earlier and threw him _again_ like a rag doll. Luckily, the back of his head smacked the wall and stopped him from going through it.

He saw stars. The vampire started at him again, sneering. “Your partner is killing my family so effortlessly, why aren't you killing me with the same ease?”

“Hey! If you want to keep this one's pretty head attached to the rest of her, you'll step back.” 

When Dean's eyes focused again, he saw Not Sara holding the last vamp in front of her with her sword poised at her throat. _Seriously? **She's** the crazy ninja?_ Blood was sprayed all over her and body parts littered the floor around her. Parts detached from other parts. A mix of vampire pieces lying in gore and hay. It kind of looked like one of the art installations at the museum Sam had dragged him to in Asheville a couple of years ago. Dean had such a terrible headache, but he laughed in spite of himself. She threw him a quick 'shut the fuck up' look and turned her attention back to the bleeding, sluggish female vampire in her arms. She must've coated her blade with dead man's blood.

There was no way this girl was human.

“You single-handedly killed eight of my loved ones. What makes you think I'm not going to kill your partner, here?” He gestured toward Dean but didn't look at him. If the room wasn't tilting quite so much, Dean might have tried to get to his machete or tackle the evil son of a bitch...hell, he might have just tried to stand up, but he was on the verge of regurgitating the burger he'd wolfed down earlier, and didn't want to push it.

“Not my partner. Just someone edging in on my hunt,” she shrugged. “Kill him if you want.” Great. Not only was Not Sara some sort of superhuman, she was also one of those hunters just out to kill monsters. Not one of the hunters who wanted to save people.

“But, if you kill him, she dies too. I'm pretty sure you love her in some fucked up way, right?”

“It's not fucked up! She's my _family!_ ” he roared, moving away from Dean and toward the other hunter. Dean took a second to swallow his nausea down and leaped across the floor for his machete. Time slowed down like it usually did at a crucial part of a fight; nanoseconds felt like minutes. He got to his machete and turned to see Not Sara shove the female vamp forward enough to slice her sword through her neck, making the leader rush her and giving Dean time to bury his machete in the side of the leader's neck. Riding him to the ground from behind, he sawed at the vamp's flesh once, twice, three times, severing his head and watching it roll forward. A brown hiking boot stopped it like it was some grotesque soccer ball, and he looked up to see Not Sara smiling at him through a mask of blood and dirt.

He rolled off the headless body and took a second to climb to his feet. His head was still swimming, and the sudden movement hadn't helped.

“Lady, you'd better tell me who the hell you are, or I'm gonna assume your super ninja skills are part of your evil monster powers and kill you.” He was swaying on his feet a bit, but he was pointing his machete at her, focusing on its familiar weight in his hand.

“Just highly trained in combat and martial arts,” she smirked, seemingly at ease, but Dean knew she was readying for an attack.

“I'm so hungry. Help me, please,” moaned the poor bastard still tied to a post. The girl let her face drop, looking tiredly over toward the new vampire. Maybe she was more like him than he thought. She drug her face back up, eyes locking with Dean's, a tight smile gracing her lips.

“Name's Alessa. Nice to meet you again, Dean.” she walked over to the man who was now panting and crying, his ragged vampire teeth descending over his human ones. She put her hand on the top of his head and pressed until he was facing the ground. “Shh. I'm going to help you. Don't worry.” Her voice was quiet, soothing, and he calmed some, nodding as much as her hand would allow.

“Thank you. I'm just so hungry.” Alessa squeezed her eyes shut for a second before moving her hand and bringing her blade down across his neck. She locked eyes with Dean for a long minute, looking every bit as ragged as she was surely feeling, and then nodded. It took him a minute to process what was happening before he realized that she was leaving. She had turned her back to him, trusting him. He never would have done that if the tables were turned, but apparently she didn't have as many trust issues. Or she was some sort of superhuman ninja and could kill him before he touched her. Either way, his only choice was to follow after her out the front door.

“Wait just a goddamned second, will you? Where're you going?” He had a mild concussion, he was sure of it, and walking fast enough to catch up with her wasn't an option. She stopped, but it was jerkily, like she wasn't sure if she should stay there or continue into the woods. “I said where are you going?” Dean watched her turn slowly with a stony expression in place.

“I'm going to hike the two hours back to my car, asshole. Or did you wanna do some story time? Swap some hunting tales and phone numbers? I don't think you're up to it. Maybe you should focus on not dying on the way back to your car. You have a concussion because you're an inept fighter.” Her voice was low, but not in the way it had been last night. She sounded angry and dangerous. Dean was about to defend his fighting skills when he fell to his knees and finally threw up that burger.

 _S'fine. Wasn't that good anyway._ The last thing he saw before he fell to his side and passed out was Alessa rubbing her face and sighing. _Alessa's a pretty name..._


	3. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alessa has to face demons. Personal and real ones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a little violence in this one. Nothing major.

The night smelled of death. Torn intestines, tissues exposed that were never meant to grace the open air, gallons of spilled blood. Alessa was pretty sure she was sporting the same scents. She desperately needed a shower and to get blackout drunk.

Instead of doing that, though, she was trying to wake Dean up enough to get them out of the woods. What were the odds of this Dean not being Dean Winchester? She really hoped _this_ was not the hunter heaven wanted her to find. His reputation was infinitely more impressive than the man himself.

And apparently he swallows burgers whole, judging from the pile of vomit soaking into the forest floor.

“Dean, wake UP! You are _the_ worst hunter I've ever met!” She had been standing over him shaking his shoulders, but dropped him back to the ground in frustration. “Jesus _christ_ , can I get some fucking help here?” She was looking upward as she spoke, glaring at the stars peeking out from behind the clouds. If the circumstances had been different and she didn't smell like a slaughterhouse, it would have been a nice night to wait it out under the sky. No one ever actually answered her when she swore at the heavens and its residents, but it made her feel better. Gave her someone to blame for the mess her life had been swept up in when she lacked the strength to hold on to her 'just keep moving, life is what it is' philosophy.

She kicked Dean in the thigh, hoping to charlie-horse his leg, but he just laid there, continuing to be comatose. _Fuck this. I'm out._

Twenty minutes later, Alessa was sitting on a log, contemplating if washing her face and hands in the stream would create vampire animals, and trying not to feel bad about leaving Dean unconscious in the middle of the forest. With a huff, she stood up, not washing to avoid having to behead vampire raccoons. _Dean is such an asshole._

When she made it back to the clearing, he was still in the same position, sprawled on his back where she had dropped him. She knelt beside him and shook his shoulder.

“Wha? Sam, stop,” he slurred. Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, she lifted his head up and pried his eyes open.

“Dean, it's Alessa. You need to wake the hell up already so we can get out of here. Dean!”

“Sara? Er. Alyssa? What's going on?” His eyes were half-open, which was a good sign, so she lowered her voice a bit.

“Your brain is probably bruised, and we need to get away from the carnage I caused. My car's about two hours away, Where's yours?” She put her hands on his cheeks, rough with stubble, and made him look at her. “Dean. Where is your car?”

“Um. Came in th'back. 'Bout forty-five minutes.” He smiled a little, goofily. “I found a faster way in.”

“Yeah, but I did all the work, and you got knocked out. You got your keys?” He was frowning at the former comment but patted his left jeans pocket anyway.

It took them a little over an hour to make it to the Impala, and surprisingly, Alessa only had to hold Dean up the few times he stumbled. It seemed that he just had a slight concussion, nothing too awful. There was a trail on the back side of the woods, and it was easy to follow. Dean had to concentrate on staying upright, and apparently talking threw off that concentration, so the walk back to his car was mostly quiet.

She headed west toward her hotel, enjoying the rumble of a different car around her. It was definitely _not_ better than her car, but she could appreciate it as a fine piece of engineering. The trees lining the road zipped past them as she pushed the gas pedal down a bit further. The night was looking up.

“Be careful with her. Not a lot'a people get the honor of drivin' her, and you wouldn'ta been on that list if I wasn't s'damn dizzy.” Dean's voice was tight with pain, but he was still Dean. She was starting to get a picture of who he was. Very 'my way or the highway'. Which might be a problem, since Alessa was probably even _more_ headstrong than he was.

She smirked and pushed the Impala a little harder.

“Y'know, you were way less of a pain last night.”

“Quite the opposite, if I remember correctly,” she mused. The irritation of having to save someone, kill an innocent, and being covered in drying bodily fluids was waning with her amusement at Dean's discomfort. She leaned over and spoke in his ear, “I can pull over if you wanna go again. Get a little bouncy, a little _loud._ ”

“Stop talking. My ears are ringing.” He leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes. “We _could_ get bouncy later, though. Tomorrow, maybe.” Alessa just laughed, maybe a little more loudly than usual. Just for spite.

An hour later saw Dean dozing, stretched out on Alessa's bed and waiting for the Tylenol to kick in while she took a shower. It took about fifteen minutes to get all the blood and guts out of her hair and off her face. The cheap tub was already stained a slight brown, and Alessa thought the bright red color was actually a better look. She was careful to make sure all the pieces were adequately washed down the drain so there wouldn't be any evidence of mass murder. That always came back to bite you in the ass.

She stood under the spray for a few more minutes trying not to imagine body parts and various viscera in a bathtub in Philly being broken down by acid. In some ways, hunting was a less complicated life than her previous, but those ways rarely added up to make it better overall. There was that whole having-people-around-who-cared-about-you thing that she missed fiercely when she allowed herself to feel it.

Her clothes were all out in the main room, but really, there wasn't much Dean hadn't seen, and modesty wasn't something with which she'd been concerned in a long time. It didn't phase her when she bent over to get her clothing out of her bag and got a whistle from Dean.

“Thought you were sleeping off that unfortunate headache,” Alessa said mildly, slipping on her panties and jeans.

“I recover quickly.” She turned around to face him, snapping her bra in place and pulling the straps up on her shoulders just in time for him to lose sight of her nipples. Dean chuckled and motioned at her with his head. “What's the tattoo say?”

“Nei tuoi occhi c'è il cielo. Means, 'heaven is in your eyes' in Italian.” It was something her mother told her every single day of her life until she died. It was a common thing for couples to say to each other, but it had still seemed right when her mother said it. The thought of her mother still hurt, but more like a fading bruise. It had, after all, been 21 years since her death.

“Hm. That's nice,” he paused for a second before asking, “And what gave you the scars around it?”

Laughing, Alessa slid her shirt on and thought about the fight she and Joey had gotten into that had resulted in those particular scars. “It was right after I'd gotten into hunting, Joey and I were tracking what was supposed to be a really big werewolf, but it turned out to be an Indian were-bear. Slashed me across the back before we could get any bullets in it. It didn't even touch the tattoo, though. Scars run right around the letters.”

“Joey?” Dean was settled against the headboard, hands resting behind his neck.

“Grew up with him. We kinda got thrust into hunting together. Demon shit.” Sitting down at the table, Alessa started cleaning off her sword. She hadn't thought about Joey in a while. Compartmentalization techniques were a must.

“Where's he now?”

“Why are all these questions one-sided?” Her sword could really use a good polish. She decided to do that and ignore the rest of Dean's questions. For some reason, he was hitting on everything she did _not_ want to talk about with anyone.

“Well,” he stretched his arms out in front of him, palms up, “what do you want to know?”

“Who's Sam?” Alessa still wasn't looking at him, but she could see him in her peripheral vision. He shrugged his shoulders.

“My brother.”

“And where is this brother Sam?” Something had nicked her sword, right in the middle. _Shit, repairing that will be a nightmare. How many people know how to repair an Arabian saif?_

“He's in Colorado somewhere.”

“Mm. He a hunter too?” She really was listening to Dean, but the nick in her sword was at the forefront of her mind. There were only a few things she took care of with gusto, and her sword was one of them.

“Yeah, we usually hunt together, but we're on a, sorta...break.”

That got her attention. She looked at Dean and laughed a little. “You guys dating or something?”

“No! God. We've been hunting together more or less for our whole lives. We were raised in it.” He got up and grabbed a water from the little fridge.

“Wow, and you're still alive?” After seeing the events earlier that night, she wasn't so sure Dean was all that great of a hunter.

“Yes, I'm actually good at this. Tonight was...an anomaly. You distracted me.” He seemed to be pouting now, sitting on the bottom of the bed and staring at the floor.

“A good fighter adapts quickly to change and doesn't get distracted from the task at hand.”

“You sound like a textbook.” When she looked up, Dean was eyeing her curiously.

“Recitations from my sensei.” He was technically her former sensei since her father'd had him killed for being a rat. He had been the best aikido instructor in Pennsylvania, but sniper's rifles don't care if you can fight.

“So, what were you raised in, if not hunting? And where did you get the frickin' Turkish sword?”

“My family was big on protecting ourselves, and it's not Turkish. It's an Arabian saif. I got it from a guy in Maine a couple years back.” Maine was a really long drive from here, and she didn't want to have to go there to get it fixed. “Do ya know any good bladesmiths closer than Maine? I guess I nicked it on one of the vamps' vertebrae or something.” The question was half real inquiry and half evasion of questions about her family.

“Uh, maybe. I'd have to check around.”

“Yeah, with your lifetime hunting connections and all.” When she was done, her sword was shined up and gorgeous. She could almost feel it vibrating against her hand, like the sword itself knew how great it looked. She probably needed to rest, but her muscles were jumpy, wanting something to do despite the workout they'd just had. She found herself asking Dean if he felt like heading out with her. The way she felt around Dean was strange. He felt companionable, comfortable. Now that she had a chance to think about it, she would have normally left him in the woods unconscious, and if anyone else asked her the same questions he had, they would have gotten a 'fuck off' and a kick out the door. She wasn't going to spill her life story to him, but she kind of wanted to. It was possible she just wanted someone to be around who knew about her. Knew _her_. Picking up another partner after Joey had died would have been easy enough, but if she didn't have anyone else with her, she couldn't get them killed.

It was a sound logic. Fight alone until something kills you. Go down swinging. Honorable.

So, now heaven wanted her to stick around with Dean? If she didn't, would they make her? Is that why she felt so relaxed around him?

If some angel was messing with her emotions, she was going to knock the shit out of it. What had Eloa said about Dean? That she had to convince him to side with heaven? What kind of hunter sided with hell? Weren't heaven and hell the only two games in town?

And most importantly, should she tell him everything?

Alessa _needed_ to wind down, turn her mind off. Everything was getting to be too much. Dean, angels, destiny, loss. Drinking would have to suffice.

“There's a bar a couple blocks away. That good?” If it wasn't, she didn't really care. He could stay in the room.

***

The air was brisk as Dean sped down the sidewalk trying to keep up with Alessa. Something had spooked her, but he wasn't sure what it was. The conversation between them had seemed comfortable, if not a bit evasive from both sides, but they were hunters. Swapping life stories wasn't exactly in the job description. He wasn't one to judge on haunted, secret pasts.

After the night they'd had, and it was only midnight, a drink or two (or five) didn't seem like a bad idea anyway. So, he was following Alessa down the road to the bar, looking around at the people out for some fun on a Friday night.

When he turned his head back from checking out a particularly busty redhead, he almost ran right over Alessa. She had stopped abruptly in front of a poster advertising a concert, her eyes wide and body rigid.

“You okay?” She still wasn't moving and didn't answer him. “What? Is,” he squinted at the poster over her shoulder, “Family of Thieves your favorite band or something?” Snapping out of her unresponsive state, she visibly jerked and made some noncommittal noise. “Huh?”

Alessa looked around at the building they were standing in front of and made a quick run for the alley beside it. This...was not what Dean had in mind when he followed her out of the hotel room for a drink. He wasn't even sure what had just happened. So, again, he followed the head of dark, flowing, probably still-damp hair around the corner and into the alleyway.

She was knocking on the back door of what appeared to be a club. _Yuck_. Dean hated clubs. He could just bolt. He had his keys. It wouldn't be hard to walk the short way back to his car and head to a bar or back to his hotel.

Alessa was magnetic, though. He felt drawn to her, and not just in a sexual way. Yes, she was attractive and great in bed and her attitude was the type he looked for in girls...and she was kind of a ninja. That was really cool. But, beyond all of that, she felt _familiar_ to him. He needed to investigate that further. There was something off about this whole connection, but right now, Alessa was ducking behind a dumpster after drawing out the security guard posted at the back door, so it was really time to either join in or flee.

Join in, it was.

He crouched down behind her in the shadow of the dumpster. She was shivering lightly, but her shoulders were set squarely, preparing for _something_. The guard looked around, holding the door open with his palm and leaning to check around the backside of the door, away from them. Alessa edged closer to the outside of the dumpster, clearly visible, but luckily, he didn't glance back. He just turned and went back inside, shrugging a little.

Like a flash, she was sprinting toward the door, sliding her fingers around the bottom corner and peeking inside, back in a squatting position. Dean came up beside her, standing and taking a look for himself over her head. People were rushing around, talking to each other hurriedly, and moving sound equipment and instruments. They were all wearing lanyards around their necks or tied in their belt loops. The tags on the lanyards were sporting the same logo from the poster on the club wall.

What a fan girl Alessa was turning out to be. Dean had never heard of this band, but they looked pretty normal on the picture. No make-up or crazy, spiked-up hair. Just dudes in jeans and t-shirts. A couple of them had goofy expressions on their faces, but photo shoots would make him feel weird too.

She looked up at him then as if she had forgotten he was behind her, her face blank, giving away nothing.

“You don't have to stay with me. I probably seem like a crazy person.” That's all she said. She took a another look inside and darted through the door, barely giving him time to keep the door from closing and locking him out.

 _Okay, that was irritating_. He was following her on some half-assed reconnaissance and not asking questions, and she didn't even care enough to explain what it was they were looking for. If she was just trying to meet a band member, he was out of here. Strange magnetism be damned.

Dean slipped inside, letting the door close softly, but with all the chaos going on backstage, he doubted anyone would have noticed anyway. She was already halfway across the room when he spotted her, lifting a pass out of someone's back pocket and sliding it over her head, eyes not taking one second's break from searching out a target of some sort. He checked out the people around him, milling around and not noticing the two people who had just snuck inside. Nicking a pass out of a passerby's belt, he started in the direction Alessa had gone, but a familiar aroma sidetracked him.

 _Oh, man. That's pizza. I'm so hungry_. All of his questions could be put on hold for a bit while he ate.

Clearly Alessa could take care of herself, so he followed the smell, his stomach rumbling to remind him that his only food in the last twelve hours had been thrown back up. He walked down a hallway and found himself looking into a room full of food. Pizza, burgers, sandwiches, tacos, spaghetti, and salads covered a long plastic table. Some people were picking at the food; others were eating themselves into food comas. Dean wasted no time in grabbing a plate and loading it up with everything he could get his hands on that wasn't green and leafy.

A few minutes later, Dean was sitting on a stool in the corner, plate balanced on his lap and mouth completely full of food. Alessa came in the room and looked around, almost like she was trying to casually look for threats in a room of thirty people before landing her eyes on Dean.

“What are you _doing_?” She looked slightly repulsed in a way she hadn't been when she was covered in vamp goo.

“Ea'ing! Dis is so 'ood!” He chewed a bit more and swallowed. “Want some? They got burgers with bacon cooked right into the beef!” _This is awesome._ Raising one eyebrow at his excitement, and really he didn't care if she wasn't impressed because food made him happy, she looked at him for a long second with an indiscernible look on her face. Then, she sighed and nodded, grabbing half of a BLT sandwich off his plate and taking a bite.

“I _am_ pretty hungry. Saving you was hard.” She gave him a shit-eating grin as she chewed.

“Hey!” he exclaimed, indignant, “I had a counter attack planned.” And he was sure he would have if given enough time. He lowered his voice a bit and continued, “Plus, I kept Big Head Vamp away from you while you...”

“Eliminated all the other threats?”

“Exactly.” She rolled her eyes, but really, not even cutting down his fighting skills could make him lose his appetite at the moment. “What are we doing here, anyway?” Not that he wasn't happy with how it all ended up.

Looking around the room at all the people, her eyes tracking each one for a few seconds, she turned up the corners of her lips slightly and replied, “Looking for someone I used to know.” She sounded melancholy, like that someone was an important someone. For a second, her eyes were distant, as if she wasn't really seeing the chaotic room anymore or hearing the raucous laughter, but another scene, another time. Dean figured that this side of Alessa wasn't one many people saw. Maybe she was starting to feel the same familiarity for him as he was for her. He really needed to find out more about her. It seemed they were both acting a bit out of character in regards to each other.

Shaking her head and coming back to the present, she tossed her crust back on Dean's plate. “I'm gonna go check out the wings and the stage. You can stay here, if you want.” He was torn, but in the end, he put his plate down and followed her out the door anyway.

***

Alessa headed back out into the hallway that led to the stage, quickly scanning the group of people making their way to the main club for a familiar face. When she had seen that poster on the side of the building, it was like the world had frozen in place for a moment. She couldn't feel her body or the cold night air or even Dean's warmth when he brushed up behind her. It had been a very long time since she had seen someone from her past life. Marcus, the singer of Family of Thieves (which was definitely a play on being the underboss' son), had been Alessa's best friend since they were five. Later, they had been lovers and even in a relationship for awhile, the only real one Alessa'd ever had, but they were always friends. Some might even say they were as close as siblings, but the sex made that comparison a bit uncomfortable.

Once the group of people had vacated the short hallway, there were only four others left—Alessa, Dean, and the two band members standing at the opposite end. They were holding their guitars and laughing loudly about something. The smaller man was waving his tattooed arms wildly and nodding his head as he told his story, his hair curly and swaying like prairie grass every time he moved his head. The other man was Marcus. He was just as large and boisterous as she remembered. He had become more heavily tattooed in the last four years and definitely more muscled. His smile was as easy as it ever was. He always smiled quickly whenever he felt the urge and let his happiness clearly shine through it.

Marcus was raised in the Family just as Alessa had been, so he knew how to mask his emotions and handle himself in a fight. He was quick witted and smart. Those were the qualities that kept you alive and out of prison, so they were a must, but beyond basic survival, he was never interested in being a made man. He could have just stepped into his role as a soldier if he'd wanted, but it was always clear that music was his passion. Alessa enjoyed playing a few instruments and singing as well, even played in the first incarnation of the band that would become Family of Thieves, but the affinity for violence she'd found had filled the hole that music might have taken up in her life.

The two band members stopped talking and noticed at once that they were being watched. Marcus' eyes swiftly took in Dean's face and came to rest on Alessa's. He squinted in confusion for a second before realization dawned on his face. He all but ran toward them and scooped Alessa up in his arms, lifting her off the ground in a bear hug. Marcus always could make her feel small and protected when she was in his arms, a sensation that was always welcomed if also quickly fleeting.

It helped that he was 6'5” and had the body of a defensive lineman. When he finally put her down, he left his hands on her shoulders and beamed at her.

“Marcus, caro mio. It is _damn_ good to see you,” Alessa spoke softly. His smile lessened into a pleasant grin.

“Dolcezza, back at ya.” His voice was a deep rumble. Slightly hushed, he frowned and said, “Aly. I thought you were dead. We _all_ thought you were dead. Your whole unit disappeared. Even _I_ heard about it.” When Marcus had made it clear that he didn't want to take the oath and be a made man, his father had put a lot of distance between them. Alessa had always thought it was to protect him from the danger of the Life, but Marcus had never seen it that way, so communication between the Family and him was strained at best.

Clearing his throat, Dean held out his hand. “Dean. Nice to kind of meet you.” Alessa realized Dean had been standing beside her the whole time, taking in what had been said. She could feel his curiosity like a soft touch in her mind.

Marcus laughed big and bright and shook Dean's hand, almost taking him off-balance unintentionally. “I'm Marcus, as you might have guessed.” There was a beat of silence before the smaller guy joined them. Alessa didn't know him, and she wondered how much of the band had been replaced since she'd seen them last, the night before the FBI raid.

“Marc, we gotta get on stage, man. Crowd's losing it.” He turned to Dean and Alessa and nodded, “I'm Jordan.” He was running his fingers up and down the fretboard of his bass, picking out a complicated rhythm as he talked. He looked at Alessa full in the face, brows furrowing almost imperceptibly fast before he smoothed out his face into an unreadable mask and turned back toward Marcus. “Nate and Taylor're already out there.” Jordan threw out a small wave and headed toward the stage. It was apparent that Jordan recognized her in some way, maybe from a wayward picture of Marcus' or something.

It was also possible that he was possessed. She really hoped he wasn't. Noticing that her gaze was still fixed on the spot Jordan had just vacated, she quickly let a smile grace her features and brought her eyes back up to Marcus' face. “So, you're a big deal now, huh? Good thing I stole this pass so I could see you play tonight.” He huffed out a laughed and started walking toward the stage, beckoning them to follow.

“Some things never change. You can watch from the stage, like old times. Meet me out back after?”

“Yeah. Là fuori non soffocare, caro mio.” Marcus laughed delightedly. Alessa had missed him. He was always quick to laugh and slow to anger. At one point in her life, she had seen them as two sides of a coin. Opposites who were intertwined. She might have even entertained a few thoughts of a life together, but those would never be spoken aloud.

“I haven't choked up since that first time, thanks.” He squeezed her shoulder one more time and turned toward the stage. He threw his arms up and gestured for the crowd to stop booing. Apparently they'd been a bit more than a little late to the stage.

“So, uh, should I go?” Dean was awkwardly standing behind her like he'd been trying not to impose on her and Marcus' private moment. She wasn't ready to give up on the angels' plan yet. After all, paradise sounded nice, and she was pretty sure letting hell win the apocalypse was a bad idea. That meant she needed to explain everything to him, but short of holding him hostage, she couldn't make him wait around for her. She was going to spend the night catching up with Marcus, and not even heaven could take that away from her.

“Look, I'm not gonna make you stay. It's really up to you. There're things...” she trailed off, laughing a little when Marcus yelled into the microphone at the crowd, 'We're here, we're here. Stop booing and enjoy the music, ya little jerks.' “Look, I need to tell you some stuff, but I can't explain it here. You can stay and watch the show with me, or you can go somewhere else. Will you meet me back at the hotel in the morning?” Dean searched her face for a few seconds, trying to decipher if what she needed to tell him was a good thing or a bad thing, but when her face gave away nothing, he just nodded.

“I'm gonna go get a drink. Lemme see your phone.” She handed it to him, and he added his number to her contacts list. “Call me when you're ready to tell me whatever it is you need to tell me.” Alessa gave him a quick smile and turned toward the stage, leaning against a speaker cabinet. As soon as they had started playing, the crowd had gone from irritated to cheering in an instant. She spied Nate pounding away at his drums, long blonde hair flying as he headbanged his way through the chorus, happy to see that he was still with the band. He'd just been some cocky little kid following them around when they took pity on him and let him audition on the drums. He blew them away and was a member and friend ever since.

Jordan had his eyes closed and was tapping his foot, his lips forming a small smile. Marcus was already sweating, pointing to the crowd and yelling the lyrics to the chorus away from the microphone. The fans knew every single word. The lead guitarist, was someone Alessa didn't know, but he was acting utterly insane. Taylor, Jordan had said. His playing was impeccable as he thrashed around, jumping one second and rolling on the floor the next. It was like watching a fight, and this guy was clearly winning, not missing a beat. She found herself laughing when Marcus turned and winked at her during the bridge.

This was the best time Alessa'd had in a long while. She hoped they would play a very long set.

***

Dean found the door to the main part of the club and made his way through the moshing masses to the back bar. He sipped a beer and watched the band. They weren't technically what he'd call a punk band. Maybe it was their attitudes. The way they thrashed around on stage and yelled the choruses with the fans. He decided he kind of liked Family of Thieves. Marcus was good at entertaining the crowd, mixing sing-a-longs and stories into the set. He'd planned on going back to his hotel, but the alcohol was relaxing and he was enjoying the music. Alessa was even visible on the side of the stage, bobbing her head and leaning against the side of one of the speakers.

Alessa was something Dean needed to figure out. He found himself attached to her more and more with every passing minute. It should have troubled him more than it did. _If only Sam was here to talk to_...maybe he could call him? No. He and Sam needed this break. _Sam_ needed his space, and Dean had to respect that. _Jesus, it sounds like we're a couple._

His contemplation was interrupted by Marcus starting another story.

“So, back when I was eighteen, what would become Family of Thieves had just started out. Nate,” he gestured to the drummer with the beer he'd been sipping throughout the show, his other hand resting on the neck of his guitar, “auditioned for me and the other very first member. She was our first guitarist. With us three together, it felt like a real band for the first time. Back then we were No Values. We had this demo tape called 'The Garage Demos.' Any a' you heard it?” He paused to take a drink and let some of the cheers die down. “The guitarist who didn't suck was a girl. Went by Aly.” A lone voice yelled near the front of the stage. “Oh, shut up, this was in '97. How old were you? Eight?” People laughed. Dean found himself chuckling too.

“Anyway, she sang on one of those demos before she ran off to bigger and better things.” Dean snorted. Whatever had led Alessa to hunting was probably not bigger and better than being in a successful band. “Guess who snuck in through the back tonight and stole someone's pass? Once a little snot-nosed punk, always a little snot-nosed punk, right?” The crowd cheered and clapped while Marcus motioned for Alessa to come out on stage. Dean was definitely intrigued now.

After a little coaxing from both Marcus and the fans, she appeared on stage looking slightly murderous. He whispered something in her ear to which she shook her head. He nodded the affirmative at her, and they exchanged a look that told how well they'd known each other. Apparently, Marcus won the staring contest because Alessa stepped up to the microphone stand and adjusted it to her height. Marcus had initiated a loose huddle around the front of the drum set, presumably telling the others what was going on. The drummer had a silly grin on his face and blew Alessa a kiss when she turned and looked at him. _So, Alessa was in a band. Huh._ It seemed that as time went on, he came up with more questions about her than answers.

She faced the crowd and let out a loud, whooping scream into the mic. The crowd yelled back at her, and she smiled big and uninhibited. Gone was the weary, calculated hunter Dean had met, and here was an outgoing, charismatic woman. It reminded him of how she was in bed. Free.

“So, how many times have you guys actually played this song in the last ten years?” Someone had brought out another microphone for Marcus.

“I think, like, three times?” He looked to the other members who laughed and nodded. These guys were relaxed on stage. This was their happy place.

“So, you guys clearly remember it perfectly,” she quipped. The crowd was loving this.

“It only has five chords in it. I think we can manage.” Marcus waved at Nate and he started tapping the cymbal in short beats. Alessa closed her eyes and started singing a slow melody.

“ _Today was a hard day, but when I take your hand, we can run away. Just run away..._ ”

Everyone was silent, some had their lighters and cells phones raised in the air. Marcus started playing a simple tune, flowing with Alessa's voice. She was good. Really good. At the end of the first verse, the rest of the band joined in and the tempo got a little faster. Dean found himself only watching Alessa as she moved around the stage, mic in hand, jumping and alternating between belting out high notes and screaming. At times, Dean would almost swear he could see flames in her eyes when the lights caught them just right. Kind of like a shapeshifter's eyes, but with color.

It was quite a sight. At the end of the song, the crowd went nuts and Alessa bowed, laughing and pulling her hair back from her face. She ended up singing one more, a cover song called “Fix Me.” It was faster and was basically just yelling, but she nailed it too, throwing herself around the stage all swinging hair and sass like she did it every night. Dean cheered and raised his beer at her in a salute when she saw him in the back.

He ordered another drink and downed it while the band finished their set, beating the rowdy fans out of the door as the band finished their last song. The wall was cold on his back even through his coat as he leaned against it and tried to make some sense of what had happened in the last 24 hours. It reminded him of that time in New Orleans after he'd killed that voodoo necromancer and her zombie horde. Sam was still at Stanford, and his dad was tracking something through California, so it had been a solo job. He went to a bar to wind down and ended up spending three days with a girl he met there. She'd done a number on his head, ' _and my body_ ,' he thought with a smirk.

That was the last time he'd really felt free. He didn't know Sam was in danger from...everything, his dad was still alive, and in those few days, life had been good. Easier. He couldn't remember the girl's name, or even what they had talked about, but it was still a good memory. Right after that, everything had gone to shit and never gotten any better. God, the New Orleans job felt like a few lifetimes ago.

Alessa made him feel like he did with New Orleans girl. It was strange. They hadn't even talked that much, and half of their time together had been spent with Dean half-conscious and them being attacked by vampires. Still, though, he liked being around her. It was possible that he was uncomfortable by being back on the road alone after spending so much time with Sam riding shotgun, but maybe it was more. He sighed and rubbed his face. It was going on two a.m. He needed to go get his car and find his way back to his hotel for some sleep. He should be able to catch a few hours before Alessa called. Maybe her and Marcus would spend the night together. Maybe he'd get a full night's rest.

He was standing by the alley where they'd snuck into the club. He started to walk past when movement near the back of it caught his eye. Some people were fighting and one of them was a _big_ guy. Marcus. Dean figured that it was just some stupid macho shit until he saw Alessa thrown against a wall by someone who was decidedly not Marcus. Before he could think, he ran in, gun a-blazing.

Whatever was attacking _picked Marcus up and threw him_. Marcus was about Sam's size, maybe even bigger, and had muscles on top of muscles. Dean ducked behind the dumpster where he'd been two hours earlier and tried to see what was strong enough to do that kind of damage. _Please don't be a demon. Please._ He had no holy water on him, and without a devil's trap, it was unlikely he could make it through an exorcism before it broke his neck.

“Leave him out of this. It's me you want, motherfucker. Come get me.” Alessa was wheezing, but she still sounded dangerously calm.

“Oh, I want you baby, but not to kill you. That'd be such a waste.” _Demon. Awesome._ Marcus let out a pained grunt and then flew against the opposite wall. “But, that doesn't mean I can't have some fun with _this_ meat first.” In an odd contrast, the demon laughed in a high-pitched girl's voice.

Dean leapt out from behind the dumpster while it had its eyes on Alessa and started chanting.

“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potes--” Dean was suddenly being crushed against the brick building, the air whooshing out of his lungs and cutting off his words.

“Well, well. Dean Winchester. We've missed you in hell. I hope you'll come back to see us soon. I never got a turn to flay the skin from your bones.” The girl was maybe eighteen, probably not even that. The grin on her face, though. It didn't quite match her features. He could faintly see the demon itself inside her. An ugly, rotten thing. That hadn't happened since the night he went to hell.

Okay, now he was freaked out. _What the fuck is happening to me?_

“I'm _really_ good at skinning people. Layer by layer until I reach bone and organs. Surely, you remember what that's like,” the demon leaned in a stroked his cheek with the back of her hand, “don'tcha, Dean?”

“Yeah, I remember, but you're never gonna get that chance, you bitch.” Dean was starting to get spots in his vision from oxygen deprivation. Storming right in spewing Latin had turned out to be a bad idea. Just then, a knife sliced through her throat, opening a gaping hole. The demon flew out of the girl's mouth and into the night sky, leaving her to slump to the ground, eyes vacant.

Air burst into Dean's lungs as he gasped and fell to the ground, knowing his chest would be covered in bruises the next day. He looked up to see Alessa staring down at the girl with the same expression she wore when she killed Ms. Parker's vampire boyfriend.

“Thanks,” he coughed out. She held out a hand to him and helped him to his feet.

“That's twice I've saved your ass tonight, huh?”

“Oh, eat me. We saved each other's asses.”

“Yeah, failed exorcisms _are_ good distractions.”

“Hey, guys,” Marcus called like he was going to ask what time it was. “What in the holy _fuck_ just happened here?” He was propped up against the wall across from them, eyes locked on the dead girl.

“C'mon. I'll explain everything, but we really need to get out of here. Like five minutes ago.” Alessa helped Marcus up and gave him a quick once-over for injuries before leading them back out onto the street and toward her hotel.

Freakin' awesome. Dean hated the 'supernatural stuff is real' speech.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Italian in this are little things I've picked up over the years, and some help from a friend and Google. If you see something that doesn't look quite right, let me know. All constructive criticism and shining praise is welcome.
> 
> Translations:  
> Caro mio – my dear  
> dolcezza – sweetheart  
> Là fuori non soffocare – don't choke out there


	4. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's sharing and caring time. Well, just sharing time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some brief mentions of hell/torture in this, but nothing major. Enjoy!

“Turn left up here at the light.” The three had made their way back to Alessa's hotel as quickly and inconspicuously as possible to gather her things and check out. Leaving a body in an alley was sloppy, but with all the people still milling around outside the club, there was really no way to move the poor girl whose life had come to an abrupt and violent end that night. So, they did the next best thing: run as fast and under the radar as possible.

Alessa was directing Dean toward the vacant lot where she'd left her car earlier in the evening. Taking out the vampire nest seemed like it happened days ago instead of merely hours. So much had happened in that short amount of time. She was going to have to tell Marcus about all the bumpy things in the night, and Dean wasn't stupid. He heard what the demon had said about her being important. _I wonder if they'd let me have a nap before I have to explain all of this. Or maybe they'd let me run the hell away._

No, running away wasn't something Alessa did very often. Only when it served some strategic purpose. Leaving home when the FBI had come down on the Leonetti Family was one of the hardest things she'd ever done. In fact, if her father, the Don, hadn't directly ordered her to take her unit and run, she never would have left. Maybe it had been for the best, though. How many more of her loved ones would have been killed by the demons if she had stayed with them? Alessa took a deep breath and cleared her mind. One can of worms at a time.

“Take the right fork here. It's about five miles past the split. On the right.” With Alessa pulled from her thoughts, she noticed how tense and quiet the car was. She let Marcus take the passenger seat for the extra leg room, so she was sitting behind Dean leaning her head against the inside of the car. She saw him look at her in the rearview mirror and knew he was trying to figure out whether to ask now or wait until Marcus was either brought up to speed or gone.

“So, why were you so important to that demon? And how'd they know where you were?” Apparently he was going to ask now. Alessa flinched and looked toward Marcus, but he was still just staring out his window. 

“Can we wait a bit for this conversation? I'll tell you, I promise, but not now.” She really didn't want to explain all of the crazy things that were happening to her with a third party present, who was technically a civilian in all of this. Plus, she really wanted to keep Marcus as clear of all this dangerous business as possible. She almost snorted when she realized how much she sounded like her father.

“Well, sweetheart, you'd better tell me somethin'. There's somethin'...off about you. I can't put my finger on it, but I know it's there.” His voice was as dangerous as it was calm, his eyes burning holes right through her from the mirror. 'Sweetheart' had practically sounded like an expletive, and he'd definitely spent some time perfecting his menacing glare. It almost made her shiver.

“I can't argue with that.” Her voice was cautious, but showed no intimidation. “There's something about _you_ that I can't shake. It's like I want to be around you. I almost feel stronger when you're there. And I honestly don't know why the demon wanted me, but I have an idea who might be able to tell us. I'll need some help, though. I've never summoned anything before.” She resisted the urge to laugh about needing to summon an angel. As if her life wasn't absurd enough already. Their gazes locked, Dean's intense stare unwavering as he decided if she was worth it. Alessa just gave him a blank look, hoping her eyes were as empty as she tried to make them. She was pretty good at hiding what she was feeling most of the time, but her worry for Marcus and the weird connection with Dean was throwing her off her game a bit.

And it wasn't like she didn't have questions of her own. That demon had said some interesting things to Dean while she had him pinned against the wall.

“Fine.” He pulled into the lot and let the car idle after he put it in park. “You take Marcus and meet me at the Sun Hotel. Room 212. You need to follow me?”

“No, I saw it on the way into town.”

“Good.” Dean let her out of the back seat, and she turned to see Marcus still inside the car, unconsciously rubbing at some blood on the back of his hand. He had some scrapes on his hands and face, maybe some bruises later, but as far as Alessa could tell, he was physically fine. Mentally...well, she guessed she'd find out. She tapped on the window and watched as Marcus turned to look her full in the face. He was thinking very, very hard but it wasn't clear just what those thoughts were. He didn't look afraid or angry, just closed off. It wasn't like him to act like this, but it'd been over four years since she'd seen him. People can change a lot in that amount of time.

Plus, the whole demon thing. That can mess with someone's inner cool when many other things will not.

She leaned her head toward her car parked and covered in the corner of the lot under some trees. Slowly and deliberately, he got out of the Impala and unfolded himself to his full height. She vaguely thought how cramped he would be riding in her car as well. Alessa patted him on the arm and led the way to her car, rolling her eyes when Dean pulled out a bit more loudly than necessary. Okay, so he was pissed. If the tables had been turned, she probably wouldn't have been as forgiving as he had.

Marcus helped her get the cover off the Chevelle and stuff it in the trunk. She was careful to hide the mechanism that unlocked her weapons cache hidden in the false bottom. The weapons probably wouldn't have done anymore damage, but better to be safe than chasing down your humongous friend to convince him you're not crazy and don't plan on hurting him with your collection of throwing knives and bomb-making equipment.

He wordlessly waited until Alessa unlocked the passenger door and got in, automatically moving the seat back as far as it would go. Rubbing his face, Marcus audibly exhaled. She looked at him for a long minute, but started the car and put it in gear when he didn't speak.

They were on the road when he found his voice.

“What kind of trouble are you in, dolcezza?” His voice was quiet but firm. When talking about serious subjects, that had always been his way. Any other time, he was loud and unabashedly crass.

Alessa took a moment to think about how to word her reply. What kind of trouble _had_ she gotten into? It was a good question. It was also a question she might not have an answer for yet.

“I don't know. All different kinds. All the time.” She was really starting to feel the effects of the fight now. Her head had been slammed against a wall and her knees were both bruised and bloodied. _Another pair of jeans with holes in the knees. Just like my teenage years._

“Just be straight with me. I've never lied to you or kept anything from you, not once. You let me think you were dead for four goddamn years, girl. Please.”

“I'm trying, I am,” she replied. She tried to gather her thoughts, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. “It's just hard to figure out what to say. Where to begin.” Even after four years, she fell effortlessly back into rhythm with Marcus. She let her guard down the second they were alone, allowing herself to sound unsure.

“How about what happened the last time you called me?” Alessa gripped the wheel a little tighter and slowed to the speed limit. She would need some extra time to explain all of this.

“I was with my guys on the way out of town. The feds arrested me, but they didn't have anything on me, so they had to cut me loose after a day. One of the cops on our payroll got me in to see Dad, and he told me to run.” Alessa had fought with him so fiercely to let her stay, to let her fight, but in the end, she had obeyed him. It was impossible to disobey Thomas Leonetti. At least for most people. Those who did, ended up missing. “It was after Merlino had started in on our turf. I was getting ready to fight, but Dad ordered me to leave. 'Go to New York, to the Genoveses'. Stay with them.' I don't know if he didn't want me to help in the fight or didn't want me to go to jail.

“Either way, I left with all eight of my soldiers. I called you from a payphone in Sayreville before we stopped at the motel.” She had told Marcus that she'd had to leave and didn't know when she could come back. Her relationship with him was the closest she'd ever come to having a _boyfriend_ , however ridiculous that word sounded. They'd been sleeping together for years, he'd helped her through some rough patches and vice versa, but there were always circumstances keeping them apart. He knew how to keep his mouth shut, but she was a made woman. One who did morally questionable acts every single day because she was the Family's enforcer.

“Merlino's men caught up with us, but there was something wrong with them. They had black eyes, and they were inhumanly strong.” Reliving that night was something Alessa never wanted to do. She never wanted to speak of it again, and when scientists discovered mental bleaching, she would be the first to sign up for it. She'd seen some grisly scenes before, even caused a few of them, but nothing compared to the carnage in that room. She closed her eyes for as long as she could while driving and composed herself.

“They _ripped_ everyone apart. There were body parts all over the room. I emptied a magazine in one's back, and it still didn't go down.” She could have cried in that moment, but she didn't. Control was one of her most important traits, and she was determined that even with Marcus there, her resolve would not be shaken. “It just smiled and ripped Nick's heart out of his chest.”

“Jesus christ, Aly...” He started to reach for her, to put his hand on her leg. His hand would be warm, comforting. She would cry.

“No,” she cut him off. “Don't. I'm telling you so you'll know what demons are capable of. We were attacked by a demon tonight. That girl was possessed, and our resources were limited. Killing her was the only option.” Saying it out loud made her feel slightly better. Needless, innocent death was the worst kind.

“Anyway, Joey and me, we got away that night. Did some digging. Found out all kinds of evil things were out there. Monsters. We started hunting them. Couldn't very well go back home,” she said, bitterly. The hotel was starting to come into view, and in a way, it was the most beautiful sight. Alessa needed this conversation to be over. “Demons come after me every so often. Don't know why, but I guess it's time to find out.” She pulled into the parking lot and killed the engine. Marcus put his hand on her chin and turned her head toward him.

“I've missed you, Aly.” His eyes were shiny. He was taking this incredibly well. Then again, he was Marcus. He took everything as calmly as possible. That was part of what Alessa liked about him. He was an anchor, _her_ anchor, in a life full of blood and death and pain.

“Missed you too.” She pulled away from him and opened her door. When they were both out, he looked at her over the roof of the car.

“S'where's Joey now?” Alessa froze for a split second before regaining her composure. She closed the car's door and started toward the hotel.

“Dead.” Eventually, Marcus followed her.

***

Dean stared at the keyring his room key was attached to. It was a yellow sun with curvy rays and the room number written on it in marker. He made a mental note to sleep on top of the bedspread and not in the sheets.

He wasn't really angry anymore. In fact, the reasoning behind his anger was kind of ambiguous. At first he was pissed because Alessa wasn't being straight with him. He calmed himself a bit after that, knowing he'd caught enough people in the crosshairs of demon attacks just by being a Winchester. He knew firsthand just how much demons hated Winchesters. They made sure to tell him so every day in hell. How his dad had sent them packing back to the pit, making them weaker or how Dean himself had foiled some big plan. There had been more talking, _decades_ of fucking talking, but he couldn't always remember it. Some days they started out with eye-gouging and ear-slicing.

It took a moment for him to focus on the ugly boat painting on the wall and not the images of hell that had flooded his mind. Best to keep that dam closed.

The second time he'd gotten mad at Alessa was when she had gotten out of his car. It made no sense whatsoever. He could feel her presence leave the atmosphere around him, like she had some kind of charged air surrounding her. Whatever was going on needed to stop. He was distracted, and that could get him killed.

He needed a second opinion. Perhaps an angelic opinion. He hit the number '3' on his phone to dial Castiel, a bit amused by calling an angel on the phone. This had become the alternative since Cas had put those symbols on his ribs to hide him from the angels. He would have said yes to Michael in a second if it could save the world _and_ its people from Lucifer, but all it would do is allow Michael and Lucifer to have some epic death match and kill anyone who was too close...And apparently being in the western hemisphere was too close.

“Dean?” Castiel seemed unsure if he was using the phone correctly. Technology wasn't one of his strong suits.

“Yeah, Cas, it's me. Listen, I know you're in the middle of a God hunt, but I could really use some help with something.”

“Where are you?” His voice was pinched and short, pained. 

“Uh, Des Moines. Sun Hotel room 212. You okay, man?”

Before Dean could finish the 'n' noise at the end of 'man', Cas was standing in the room looking at him, eyes tight and body swaying. His face was splattered crimson and the left arm of his overcoat was soaked in blood; it was still dripping off his fingers and onto the matted carpet.

“Jesus, Cas! What happened to you?” Dean went to him and steadied him enough to walk over to the bed and sit. His eyes were fluttery under the effort to stay conscious.

“It wasn't Jesus. The search for God has taken me to some very unsavory places.” Ignoring the irony in that statement, Dean helped him scoot up on the bed so he could rest against the headboard. “Thank you.” His breath was coming in fast pants like the little bit of movement was enough to wind him. He leaned his head back and squeezed his eyes closed. “What was it you needed, Dean?” Cas opened his eyes enough to squint at him. “You seem different.”

Dean just watched him for a moment, checking him over without actually touching him and ignoring his comment. “Do you want me to dress any of your wounds?”

“I'll be fine. The bleeding will stop soon, and I'll heal. Tell me about your problem.”

Sighing, Dean slumped down into the desk chair beside the bed and started to talk. He told the angel about the girl he'd met at the dive bar the night before, and how she'd taken down an entire vamp nest by herself. When it came time to explain how weirdly drawn to her he felt, the words wouldn't come out the way he wanted them to. They all sounded incorrect, like he wanted her, but that wasn't it.

“Oh, and when the demon attacked me, I could see its real face. Like the night I went to hell, when I could see the demons inside the people they were possessing. Something else to throw in the 'weird shit that's happening to me' bag.”

Castiel's color was coming back bit by bit as Dean told him what was going on, and he looked better by the time Dean had run out of things to say. He slid to the edge of the bed and fiddled with one of the buttons on his coat, brows knitted together in thought. It was such a human thing to do. The angel had picked up a few human mannerisms since he had been restored in one piece.

“You are...attracted to her?” Castiel asked, unsure of the exact words to use. When he looked up, Dean noticed that he looked more fragile than he used to before the archangel blew him up. It was the general consensus that God had brought him back, but if he did, he forgot a few important parts. Like the parts that gave him his full angel mojo. It frustrated Cas that he couldn't do all the things he used to, but under that new fragility was a quiet strength. It was clear in his conviction and insistence that God was still out there waiting to be found and in his devotion to the human race. 'God's last great and perfect work of art,' he'd said once. Those were not the attributes of someone who was weak.

Hell, with all of his determination and daddy issues, he could have easily been a Winchester, and Winchesters were not weak.

“I am, but,” Dean started, trying to figure out how to say what he meant. “Okay, she's hot. Y'know? But, I don't want to settle down and buy a house with her. It makes me feel better when she's around. Physical proximity. Not really emotional.” _Okay, so kind of emotional. A little. Almost not at all._

Cas spent a long minute gazing intently into Dean's eyes. If he wasn't frowning so much, it would have been downright romantic. After much longer than was remotely comfortable, Dean looked away toward the blood stains in the green carpeting. “You gonna buy me dinner before you eye-fuck me senseless?”

“I don't know what that means. I was trying to see your soul.”

“Well, lines like that won't help your chances.”

“I'm not trying to convince you to copulate, Dean. I think it's your soul that's changed. That's why you seem different to me.” Dean almost laughed at the first statement but the second one caught his attention before he could even smile.

“My _soul_? How can my soul change?”

“It changes with every phase of life you go through. It loses some of its innocence when you're no longer a child. If you have tendencies for evil, it gets darker. If you're a good person, it will grow brighter. Yours has undergone many changes in your lifetime, Dean, but this is something entirely new.”

“Great. So, am I gonna snap and go all Patrick Bateman or something?”

“I don't know who that is. I can try to reach out to it, if you'll let me. I might be able to see exactly how it has been altered.”

Dean just blinked at him. It had been an emotionally trying few hours. Someone suggesting actually _touching_ his soul put his brain just over the edge.

“Uh, what...hm.” He pursed his lips together and looked at the water stains on the ceiling. “How does one go about looking at a soul?”

“I will reach into your essence.” Raising his eyebrows, Dean took in a shaky breath and started to talk, but Cas interrupted him. “It's so much not a physical 'look' as it is a metaphysical touch.”

A dry, mirthless chuckle tumbled out of Dean's mouth. “Of course. Whatever. What do I do?”

“Dean, it will hurt. Quite a lot. I can make you sleep, but you won't be able to wake up for a few hours.”

“Right. Okay, fine. If this is the only way, then we might as well get it over with. I charged into a fight with a demon for this girl, and I have no idea why. I _need_ to know what's going on.” Cas rolled up his sleeves and washed the blood off his hands in the tiny kitchenette sink. His movements were precise, deliberate, almost surgical. When he turned back around, it was all steely resolve and a tiny bit of regret. One more silent look asked Dean if he was sure.

“So, this is gonna be pretty terrible, huh?”

“Yes, it will be very painful.”

“Fine. Not like I haven't been tortured for decades before.” Cas nodded, ignoring Dean's sad attempt at a joke, and removed his belt in one fluid move, holding it out toward Dean's face.

“Bite this.” Dean did. Cas shook his hands slightly like he'd lost feeling in them.

“Dude, are you _nervous_?” A hint of hysteria showed through in his voice as the belt flopped out of his mouth and onto his lap. _Shit, he was nervous?_

“A soul is an extremely powerful thing, Dean. Pure energy. If I don't do this just right, we both explode, and I don't wish to do that again.” When Cas put one of his hands on Dean's shoulder, Dean flinched. Taking a ragged breath, Dean replaced the belt and nodded. “Please try to hold still.” Dean felt a pressure on his stomach right above his navel, slightly warm and tingly. He started to look down when it hit him. A white hot pain poured outward from Cas' hand and through his whole body. A stray thought made him happy for the belt since he would otherwise be currently grinding his teeth down to the gums because _holy fucking shit this is probably not the worst pain I've ever felt, but it is very goddamn close._

He wasn't sure how long it lasted, but it felt like hours. Hours of being deep-fried and electrocuted at the same time. He had experience with that.

When he regained consciousness, he was lying on the bed with a cool cloth across his forehead and being watched by two very human sets of eyes.

“Where's Cas?” he gruffly coughed out. His throat was raw like he'd been screaming for a very long time. Maybe he had. Maybe he'd just screamed once with _a lot_ of force. His memory was currently blocking out the whole ordeal.

“The little accountant who was attacking you? I roundhouse kicked him in the face.” Alessa was smiling but had her foot propped up on the bed. Dean raised up enough to see one of his cans of beer wrapped in a towel and balanced on her foot.

“And his face broke your foot?” The ache in Dean's head was starting to dissipate. A little.

“It's not broken. The swelling's already going down.”

“How long has he been gone?”

“Disappeared right after he laid your ass out on the bed. 'Bout a half hour.” So he hadn't been unconscious long. He heaved himself up off the bed and went to the fridge for a beer. The pain was dissolving, but he could still feel light touches of it all over his body, like the pain was dead but had left ghosts behind in his bones.

“You don't look very worried to have just seen someone disappear.” Marcus was already drinking one of his beers and seemed very relaxed sitting in the chair where Dean had just been soul-probed.

“After I kicked him, he just finished whatever the hell he was doing to your stomach and put you on the bed all gentle like. It was kind of cute,” Alessa mused. “Plus, if one kick to the head almost broke my foot, I wasn't going to try anything else unless he came after me. I was happy to see him go.”

“One night can really change the way you see the world, man. Some demon in a kid suit trying to beat you to death is bad. Someone disappearing instead of attacking you is good.” Dean took a moment to assess Marcus' facial expression. This guy was way too zen to have just found out the truth about the _real_ world in which he lived.

“You are shockingly reposed for someone who just got attacked by a demon for the first time.” Dean sat down on the bed and gave him an assessing look. What if Marcus was possessed? Had she tested him?

“Calm down, tiger. Demons can't get out of my car after they get in. I keep a devil's trap on the ceiling.” Dean raised his eyebrows and gave her a slight nod. _Smart_. “So, what now?” Alessa took the wrapped beer off her foot and flexed her toes around, moving it this way and that. Slipping her sock and boot back on, she looked at Dean. “You gonna tell me what's up or keep me in the dark?” Her voice was light enough, but her face was a different story. It seemed that keeping information from her was not allowed. Didn't matter much, though. Dean wasn't one for following rules.

“You were the one who wanted to be all sharing and caring tonight. Not me, sister.” This night wasn't going to end, apparently. She regarded him closely, not giving away anything she might have been thinking, only that she _was_ thinking. Finally, she popped open the beer that had been on her foot and gulped half of it down in one long drink.

“Fine.” She raised one eyebrow at him. “It's the end times, Dean-o, and we're supposed to team up and fight.” Her dark eyes had a spark of mischief in them, but as always, they also reminded him that she was a carnivore. There was something dark there; he knew it because he saw it in the mirror every day. However, he was also aware that if push came to shove, he might not be able to best her in a fight. Maybe keeping that in mind would help him battle the involuntary feelings he had about her.

“Yeah, I've known about the apocalypse for a while now. Nothing new.” She frowned, not happy that she didn't get to surprise him, and he met her with a smirk. “But, I'm not gonna team up with you unless there's a damn good reason. I don't know anything about you.” It was clear that they were both trying to push back against whatever was trying to force them together. The easy camaraderie they'd had earlier that night was dropping back into tense distrust.

“Look, I don't like it either, but I think angels are a bit above my pay grade. One saved my life a while back, and she keeps popping up in my dreams. Mostly they're just replays of that first encounter, but sometimes the things she says are different. She told me to find you and keep you on track so we could fight against, well, evil,” she laughed a little. “But, I'm guessing she meant hell.”

“Well, angels are dicks, mostly. I have a feeling I know what my part in this fight is supposed to be, and my answer is no, just like it has been. Just like it always will be.” _Unbelievable._ Dean shook his head in irritation. “Do you even know what this fight is going to involve? You can't just jump into this shit head first without any facts. Their angelic pissing match is going to nuke half the planet.” Her head snapped up, and for the first time, her face wasn't hiding any emotions. Shock, horror, disbelief. They were all parading themselves across her features one right after the other. Soon enough, though, she closed back down and just stared at the carpet.

“You're wrong. How can you even know that?” Dean didn't need this. Some weird mind link wasn't enough to make him deal with having to explain that most angels were not your friends and should not be treated as such. Not to mention _everything_ about the impending end of times.

“Listen to me. The quicksand I'm in right now is almost over my head, and I don't need you thrown in on top of me. I don't care much what's going on with us anymore.” He was still curious, but curiosity killed a lot more than some stupid cat. Try most people who went to investigate some weird noise. “You need to leave, and take your demonic problems with you.” Dean was standing over her now, his voice loud and deep. She stood up forcing him back a step and hit him full on with her anger. He could feel it in his belly like it was his own.

“I'm not leaving without some answers. Hunters are secretive as a general rule, I know, but we're both going to have to compromise a bit since we're in this together. My compromise is that I didn't leave you to die. _And_ I'm not shooting you now. I'm caught up in this too, and I deserve to know what the hell is going on.”

“Go ask your angel pal, but leave me out of it.”

“I can't, okay? I don't know how to find her. I've only got you, and if you don't know how to summon angels, then I can't fucking ask her!” There might as well have been smoke shooting out of her ears. Dean stood his ground, but where he turned his problems into guilt, she used anger. It filled the room like a tangible thing. He could almost taste it.

“Okay, enough.” Marcus rose from his chair and used his size to become imposing in the small room, which wasn't really that hard. He only had to rise to his full height and change his facial expression. “This is ridiculous. I don't know what's going on in either of your worlds, but this has gone far enough. Both of you sit down.”

“No, this is my room, you yeti.” Yeti was the best thing Dean could come up with. Marcus didn't actually resemble a yeti. He'd seen a drawing of one in a book of Bobby's about monsters indigenous to the ice caps, and they were just about the ugliest things Dean had ever seen, which was really saying something. Alessa was staring Marcus down much in the same manner as she did on stage, but once again, she relented and returned to her chair. Dean stayed standing in spite of Marcus' annoyed, unimpressed eye roll.

“Okay, whatever. If we have to wait on you guys to share on your own volition, we'll still be in this shitty ass room staring at that ugly boat painting when the world ends.” So, yeah, the big guy had a point. The boat painting was terrible. “Dean, will you please sit down and tell us what is going on since you seem to be the expert.” Dean snorted. _Right, the expert. Also known as 'the guy who started the end of the world.'_ He sat down anyway on the bed facing Alessa and ran his hand through his hair coming away with a short piece of straw, presumably from the vamps' lair. Rolling it through his fingers, he took in a breath and started talking while Marcus dragged his chair over to Alessa's, turning the room into the semblance of a strange little classroom.

“The demons managed to get ol' Lucifer out of his cage with help from some dick angels.” _And my brother._ “God flew the coop a long time ago and left them in charge, and most of 'em just want to end everything so they can rest. They're tired of running things.” Alessa started to say something, but Marcus put his hand on her shoulder, silencing her. _Nice trick._ “So, they're skipping ahead in the story to the big prize fight between the archangels Michael and Lucifer, which will kill anyone on the half of the world they decide to fight on, so a few of us are trying to stop them.” Dean chuckled at that. When said like that, the whole feat seemed much more insurmountable than before it was vocalized.

“The guy who was in here earlier is Cas. Castiel. He's an angel. He fell when he stopped believing in the bullshit heaven was selling. He helps us where he can. Some of his powers are gone now.” _Since he exploded all over Chuck,_ Dean added silently. “The angels, they have to use vessels to walk around on earth, kind of like demons possessing a body, but the person has to give their consent before an angel can move in.” Did Dean really want to admit to being Michael's vessel? _Why the hell not?_ If Alessa was going to insist on sticking around, she'd find out sooner or later.

“It turns out that I'm Michael's made-to-order meat suit. Cas gave me some custom engravings to make sure the angels can't find me, but that'll only work for so long. They have ways of making you do what they want, and I've heard that they're just as persuasive as demons, if you get my drift.”

“So, heaven's a lie.” Despite the empty expression she'd been wearing since Dean started talking, Alessa's voice betrayed her. She sounded broken, quiet. When she brought her gaze back up to meet Dean's, it was an honest look of sadness. Just like he'd felt her other emotions that night, he felt her anguish as well. It was a cold thing, burrowing deep in Dean's chest.

“For what it's worth, it might be all cloud-hopping and pie for human souls up there. I only know about angels. They're warriors, cold and obedient, and God's not giving the orders. That's something you need to understand if you're gonna be in this fight.” Heaven had already made it clear that they wanted her. Dean sighed. “I guess you're in it whether you wanna be or not, though.”

There was a long minute of silence with everyone staring at random things in the room while not really seeing them. It wasn't so much an awkward silence as it was a heavy one. Dean hated having to kill people's dreams of happiness or of angels who guarded humanity. He thought of his mother then, briefly, of her voice singing “Hey Jude” to him as a lullaby before telling him that angels were watching over him as he drifted off to sleep, safe and warm in his bed. That had been forever ago. This was his life now. This violent, bloody, transitory thing.

Finally, Alessa spoke up dragging the men out of their thoughts.

“What did the demon mean when it said it never got a chance to skin you?” Dean's hands flexed into fists at her words, flashing back to countless years of having his flesh slowly shaved away from his body, one layer at a time. He cleared his throat and tried not to think of Alastair's face.

“I've done enough sharing for one night, darlin'. I think it's your turn.” He expected a fight, and was surprised to see her nod.

“That's fair, I guess. I got my ass kicked by a shape-shifter a couple years ago. I made it back to my hotel room, but I probably would have died if Eloa hadn't showed up. She healed me.” She took a second to smile a little, as if remembering something privately amusing. “She told me she was an angel, and I basically told her to fuck off, but she was persistent. Told me I had a destiny, and that I should be more careful. But to keep building my skills. Let on that the apocalypse wasn't that far off and I was a player in it.”

“ _Two years ago?_ Why didn't you tell anyone?” That might have changed everything. A whole year's head start? Lucifer might not have even rose with that kind of lead.

“Hunters aren't exactly receptive to new ideas like that. If I went around blabbing about angels and the end of the world, they would've strung me up in a heartbeat.” She scrunched up her eyebrows in frustration. “And I didn't even believe she was an angel for a long time. Or that I hadn't hallucinated the whole thing. I'd have dreams every once in a while about that night, but that was it. It wasn't until the last month that they even changed. The first time she told me that I was doing well and the second time she told me to find you. To make sure you side with heaven so we can 'win the great war.' Only now I don't know if she meant for you to let Michael in or if she's one of the good angels.”

Dean doubted she was a good angel. He got out his cell phone.

“What are you doing?” Marcus asked, speaking for the first time since he scolded them.

“Calling Cas. If anyone knows the truth about this Eloa chick, it'll be him.”

***

It really was absurd. One second Dean's talking to 'Cas' on his phone and the next there's a fluttering of wings and the little gruff guy had reappeared. _Angel. The little gruff angel._ Alessa figured that would take some getting used to.

“What'd you find out?” The angel gave both Marcus and Alessa considering looks before turning to Dean and talking only to him.

“It's been reshaped to accommodate some kind of connection. Like a puzzle piece.” Castiel's voice was a deep rumble, serious and worried.

“How could that even happen, Cas? Better yet, _why_?” Dean was agitated. Alessa could hear it in his voice, but she could _feel_ his unease in her limbs. He was longing for something to do with his hands. She also knew that he had panicked for a split second when she asked him about the demon recognizing him. It was a flash of pure terror that ran through him, and in turn, her.

“I don't know, but it wasn't there when I pulled you out. It was brighter as well, but that can be dismissed as normal, I believe.” Dean rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, must be all this clean living.” The angel looked confused at that but let it go. Alessa couldn't let any of it go.

“What are you talking about?”

“Cas was trying to figure out what's wrong with me, with us, tonight when you kicked him in the head. Apparently my soul's different now.” He shrugged like he was just too exhausted to worry about it at that point in time. If Dean's soul was different, whatever that meant, was Alessa's as well? Maybe Dean was right. Maybe the night had been a little too draining to deal with that bit of information before any rest was found. One thing needed to be sussed out soon, though.

“Um, Castiel?” He turned his very blue eyes to her and she could feel the intensity coming off the man in waves. _Well, not man, per se. Do angels have genders?_ “Do you know an angel named Eloa?”

“Of course. She's my sister. An angel of music.” He looked at her expectantly, not elaborating, but waiting to hear what she had to say.

“Is she on our side or the earth-wasting side?”

“I don't know, but I wish I did.” If there was a way to sound both wistful and unaffected, that would be how Alessa described his voice in that moment. He grinned then, a bit crooked, like a memory had been shaken loose in his mind. “She's always been one of my favorite siblings.”

“Would it change anything if I said she was appearing to me in my dreams? And that she'd saved my life once?”

“That is not something her garrison does. She healed you?” Alessa nodded, and he furrowed his brows in thought and lowered his gaze. There was something child-like about Castiel. Perhaps it was his unerring determination or the way he was unable to hide anything he was feeling. Whenever he experienced an emotion, it was clearly displayed on his face. Alessa found the angel refreshing after living in a world of the weary and jaded all her life.

“Interesting. I need to do some digging. I'll be in tou--”

“Wait!” Dean cut him off. “Don't go flying off yet. If Alessa's going to be around me, she needs to be hidden from the angels too.” Cas simply nodded and walked right into her personal space, placing his hand on her chest. Suddenly, it felt like tiny knives were being driven into her bones, neck to abdomen, all over at the same time. She gasped, but as quickly as the pain had started, it ceased.

“What the _hell_ was that? Adorable or not, you do _not_ get to touch me without my permission.” He scrunched up his nose and looked to Dean who was laughing quite loudly. The angel disappeared again.

“What did he just do?” Marcus was smiling, amused as well. Alessa was not happy. “Hey, asshole. What. Did he. Do?”

“Relax. He just put some Enochian symbols on your ribs. They'll keep you off the angels' radar. I've got a set too.” Alessa's chest was still aching, but it was abating quickly.

“Oh, is that all,” she deadpanned.

Maybe it was for the best. Trust didn't come naturally to her, but something in the angel's eyes made her want to put him in the slim circle of people she deemed trustworthy. If Castiel was going to check on Eloa, that only left one thing to discuss. She turned to Marcus and asked the $64,000 question.

“So, what are you going to do with all this new information?” It was selfish of her to want him to stay with her. He probably wouldn't last as long as Joey had. The fight just wasn't in his blood. Sure, he was tough, obviously strong, but ultimately gentle. Unless something drastic had happened in her absence...no. He needed to leave. He rubbed his cheek with his hand like he was assessing the amount of stubble there and turned his eyes toward the ceiling.

“I honestly don't know. Keep my head down and hope you guys win? I understand the gravity of the situation. I do. But, I'm not like you guys. I'd just get people killed, and I can't live with that.” Marcus had made the right decision. Alessa didn't know why she expected him to try and stay, though. He could accept everything that had happened, dead body and all, and take their secrets to his grave if he needed to, but he was not a soldier. A few years hadn't changed that. “I can't look at death every day, _cause_ death every day no matter what kind of creature it is. I know you got the short end of the stick, dolcezza. Maybe the tables would be turned right now if my house wasn't the first stop home from school back then. If you hadn't been alone when...” He took her hands in his and rubbed at the hard knots of scar tissue with his fingertips. “Maybe not. Either way, my heart's never been able to handle shit like this. You know that.” She did. He was a creator; she was simply a destroyer. Looking down at the carpet, he quietly added, “Plus, I've got other people I have to think about now.”

Alessa saw it then. The small silver band around his left ring finger. How had she missed it? It must have glinted in the stage lights a thousand times during their set. Marcus, _her_ Marcus, was married.

“Wait, people?” His face erupted in joy as he nodded at her. “She's six months old. Named her Daniela. Dani.” That was the Italian form of Alessa's middle name, Danielle. All Alessa could do was struggle to show him how unaffected she was. How this didn't shatter some fairy tale in her mind where they could grow old together. Have a real life.

It was stupid of her to imagine such things. Maintaining a realist attitude had never allowed her to get hurt, so that's what she needed to continue doing. Marcus had carved a life for himself out of all the carnage of their childhood. She saw it then, his strength. He'd taken all the pain and let it go. She would never be able to do that. Her anger was too strong.

She smiled softly, genuinely. “Caro mio, that's wonderful. You deserve a family. A real one. I'm glad you found someone to take care of you. God knows you can't do it on your own.”

He could, but he let the bad joke slide. “Thank you,” he said, sincerely. He rose from his chair and wrapped her in a warm embrace. Making herself pull away from the large man, she reached down and pulled a charm off an anklet she kept hidden in her left sock.

“Take this. Keep it on you at all times. It'll keep you from being possessed.” Marcus nodded and gave her a small, somber smile. “I've got to get to the airport. Plane back to Philly leaves at six.” If Alessa wasn't so numb inside, watching him leave would be much harder.

“Do you need a ride?”

“Na, I'll call a cab from the office.” His eyes were sad, but not because he was leaving. He was looking at Alessa with sympathy. Pity. Two things she would never accept.

“Stop that,” she said, her voice stern. “I'll scrape through. Just like always.” How much of her would be left, however, she didn't know. The end of the world was slightly larger than anything she'd faced before.

“Take care of yourself, Aly. And for the love of god, don't fall off the face of the fucking Earth this time. I mean it.”

“Of course.” _I'll miss you._ Marcus gave her one more short hug, nodded at Dean, and walked out the door without looking back.

“Yeah, nice to meet you too, bigfoot,” Dean mumbled at the closed door. She had completely forgotten he was still in the room. Alessa sat down on the bed beside him and let out a ragged breath. Then she was speaking, but without the vaguest idea why.

“Sometimes, just for a second,” she started quietly, “I let myself mourn everything I'll never have.” She was looking at the tiny sink, focusing on the small drops of water sitting on the metal rim. There was a peculiar feeling in her chest. Regret. Out of all the emotions she hid and shoved down so far inside of her that they were probably now barren from lack of sunlight, regret was the one she kept farthest away. It was malignant. If she regretted her past actions, she would start to doubt her future ones, and doubt would lead to hesitation. Hesitation meant death.

Closing herself back up neatly, she turned to Dean who was already looking at her and brought her lips up in a small grin.

“I'm going to go get a room and catch a couple hours of sleep. Let me know what Castiel finds out.” With that, she stood and held her head high as she left the room.


	5. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashbacks! Torture! Breakfast sandwiches! Hints of things to come!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some short flashbacks of hell and torture in this chapter. Nothing too terrible but could possibly be trigger-y.

It was noon when Alessa woke up feeling like she'd lost a fight with a bear. She was fairly certain it was past check out time, but that didn't really matter. While Dean had been sleeping off Castiel's soul check-up, she had lifted one of his credit cards, so no one was really paying for the room. Well, she was assuming they wouldn't charge the real Tom Petty. 

She had crawled into bed, or more accurately flopped down on top of the covers, around five a.m. At eight or so, she'd been able to stave off thoughts of Marcus—who he was married to, if he was really happy (he seemed it), what his daughter looked like, what kind of wedding they had, etc.—long enough to fall into a fitful sleep, full of nightmares of him being helplessly attacked by demons. The coffee pot looked to be at least twenty years old, but as long as it worked, its age didn't matter. The day was sure to bring more hostility and uncomfortable silences between Dean and her, and she couldn't handle that without at least two cups of coffee, no matter how low the quality.

Stripping down, she stuffed her dirty, still-bloody clothing into a plastic grocery bag and headed to the bathroom for a shower. Alessa really hoped it would be a scalding one. The water was ruddy when it splashed out of the spigot, so she let it run while assessing herself in the cracked mirror. Her eyes had bruise-colored bags under them so dark that her chapped lips turned down in a slight grimace at the sight. It was strange. She looked half-dead and her muscles ached terribly, but upon further inspection, all the wounds from the demon attack looked to be at least a week old. Scabs were flaking off her knees leaving new skin underneath and the bruises that littered her torso and arms were no longer dark purples and blues but pale yellow and brownish.

When she looked back up, the steam from the water was starting to cover the mirror and blur her face, so she stepped under the spray. Sighing, she relaxed her aching muscles and relished in the slight burning sensation from water a bit too hot. There were many things she could spend this shower worrying about, but she chose to let the Pixies' “Where Is My Mind” filter through her head instead, trying to concentrate on the song and nothing else.

_With your feet on the air and your head on the ground, try this trick and spin it, yeah..._

In the end, the song posed as a soundtrack to all the things she was trying to ignore. Since seeing the Family of Thieves poster on the side of the building, Marcus had taken up all of her conscious thought. It was careless of her to ignore the person standing in the back of the alley when she and Marcus had headed out to grab a coffee and catch up. At that point in the night, she was still hoping for some sex, albeit a bit more than was probably appropriate with an estranged best friend whom she'd let believe she was dead for four years. She paused, a small grin forming on her lips, and let thoughts of Marcus' strong arms holding her in place against a wall pass through her head.

Distracted thoughts like those were what had allowed her to miss a blatant threat and almost got them all killed. If the demon hadn't forgotten to keep her pinned to the wall during its monologue to Dean, they would have all died. _So careless._

It was better for everyone that Marcus had left. That's what Alessa needed to remember. Maybe that would quiet the ache in her chest that had gotten persistently more painful the longer he had been gone. Along with her clothes and makeup, she put on a mask. One that was blank and gave nothing away. If Dean could feel her emotions the same way she could feel his, maybe an impassive expression would keep him from knowing everything. She had a lot that needed to stay buried. Things that were no one else's business.

Alessa's hair was still wet, making the chilly room seem even colder. She sipped the mediocre coffee and allowed the hot liquid to burn her throat all the way down to her stomach, hoping the heat would last. It was strange to not be leaving Des Moines in her rearview already. In fact, for the first time in years, she didn't know when she was leaving. The 'where' was usually a mystery, but the 'when' was always the same. Finish the job and leave that night or the next morning. That was one of her rules.

Since it was technically afternoon, she'd broken her rule for the first time since before Joey had died. _Joey._ If she was allowing herself to think of Marcus, she might have felt bad about telling him one of his friends was dead in such a cold manner. Marcus and Joey always had a peculiar friendship. They were on completely different ends of any spectrum, but they understood each other fluently.

Alessa wasn't thinking of Marcus, though. Really.

She spent the next hour listening to Black Flag on her laptop and thoroughly cleaning every weapon she'd brought in from her car.

She also might have audibly sang a couple of the songs, which was something else she hadn't done since Joey's death. It had felt so unbelievably good to let loose on stage for the first time since she was eighteen. In some ways it had been a spectacular night. It had felt just as exhilarating as when she won a long, hard fight against something nasty. The fight in that vamp nest had been so freeing. A couple of them seemed to be well trained in some sort of martial arts, maybe tae kwon do, but she had proven to be the better fighter. It wouldn't be absurd at all to say she enjoyed the the sensation of slicing through one vampire's neck after another in a seamless, morbid dance. It was a dance she knew well and could execute perfectly. She could count the hits they gotten in on her on one hand. Three fingers, if she was being exact.

Killing the boyfriend wasn't pleasant, however. He was innocent, even if a few days' time would have changed that. Though, by the time she'd had to kill him, her high had already been stomped on by Dean and his needless concussion.

 _Concussion_ , she thought, hands stilling in the middle of reassembling her 9 mm. He'd had one last night, she was sure of it. Alessa'd seen and felt enough of them to know. A couple Tylenol caplets and few hours later, though, and he was fine. He even sat through a whole concert without showing any evidence of sensitivity to light or sound.

She dry-fired her gun to make sure it was in perfect working order and slid a magazine into it. The weight of it was comforting in her hand. Familiar. This gun was by far her favorite and had been with her through thick and, more often, thin. Alessa jacked a shell into the chamber and placed it on the table, exhaling slowly. It was time to figure out her next move. There were really only a couple choices. She could find a hunt and leave. They had each other's contact information and could meet back up at the first sign of locusts and bloody rivers. Simple and effective.

The alternative would be to stay together until they knew more. Thinking about fighting alongside Dean for an extended amount of time made her stomach churn. She had sworn that Joey would be her last partner. She had gotten him killed, and the guilt and anger from that alone threatened to swallow her up sometimes, not to mention all the other, partly innocent, blood she carried on her conscience. Adding another dead partner to that would be unbearable. She'd retreat into that unfeeling place that allowed her to kill without blinking an eye for so many years.

If she ever did fall back into the comforting emotionless enforcer again, she doubted she'd ever crawl back out. There were positives to being able to feel, even if it was less painful to let go of everything. If she let Dean get killed, it would be the end of her.

When the options were laid out, leaving seemed the only viable choice. She tried to ignore the undeniable anxiety that jumped up in her throat when she thought about being separated from Dean.

Either way, she would wait until Castiel reported back about Eloa. Intel on whether her angel was friend or foe was vital.

A knock on the door startled Alessa out of her thoughts. She slid her gun into her shoulder holster and slipped on a button-up shirt to conceal it a little. Her four everyday knives, two silver and two iron, were the first pieces she had cleaned, so they were already strapped in place on her ankles and wrists. Even though she could best most humans in hand-to-hand combat, demons and beasties tended to be stronger and faster.

Dean was smiling and holding up a paper bag and a carrier of coffees when she opened the door.

“I have breakfast.” She rolled her eyes, stepping aside to let him in and relocked the door.

“Wonderful. What would I do without you?” Alessa asked sarcastically. She sat back down at the table and unholstered her gun, but left off the safety. He shrugged and flopped down in the chair opposite her.

“I brought you an egg sandwich.” Dean raised his eyebrows. “Huh?” he coaxed, holding it out to her. She accepted it, taking one of the coffees as well.

“To what do I owe this bounty?” she asked, taking a bite of the greasy egg biscuit. She had to hand it to him, though. It tasted great.

“Uh, what would you say if I asked you to let Cas get handsy with your soul?”

“I'd say that's probably worth more than an egg sandwich,” Alessa mused. She took a sip of her coffee. It was black and rich and perfect. Dean was very good at breakfast. “What exactly did he find out from your soulus molestus?”

“That my soul has been reformed somehow to fit with something else. Like a puzzle piece.” The levity was gone from his voice.

“Strange.” She had a thought then, and in her opinion, it was a terrible thought. “Wait, like another _soul_ fits with it?” Dean nodded.

“We think so. He came back this morning. _Early_ this morning.” Then he added without prompt, “No news on your angel, though. He's checking up on her now.” Alessa noticed the bags under his eyes matched hers and wondered how many hours of sleep he'd gotten. She didn't mention his tired demeanor and continued eating, staring at nothing in particular. Both of them let the suggestion that her soul had been reshaped to fit with his linger between them unspoken.

Silence rose in the room as they ate, not awkward, just empty. Her computer was no longer playing Black Flag, but Bruce Springsteen, she noticed.

“That's a nice piece. Sig P220,” he gestured toward her gun. It wasn't a question. He knew his firearms.

Nodding, she smiled. “Yeah. One of the only things I take care of with pride.” It was the only weapon she still had from her life in Philly. “My guns, my car and my blades all get better care than myself.” His lips quirked up, but his face was melancholic, eyes impossibly green in the sickly, yellowed lighting.

“I can relate.” Even without the strange, possible soul connection, Alessa could see how Dean and her might actually get along on occasion. He wiped off his hands and started fiddling around with her throwing knives. The way he was handling and testing them out suggested that he at least knew the right way to throw them and was possibly good at it. He moved like he'd been a hunter or a fighter for some time. Other hunters' stories made him sound like either a god or in the very least, not someone of whom to get on the wrong side. Supposedly, he grew up in hunting, but that seemed unlikely. Hunters simply didn't live that long.

She tossed her trash in the bin and started disassembling her .45, an older Colt given to her by her father. Despite it's age, it never jammed or misfired, and she loved it. In fact, none of her guns jammed or misfired on her. She liked to think that it was because she chose well.

It probably also helped that she was tirelessly meticulous about their care.

“I can help you with that.” Dean was gesturing toward the .45.

“No thanks, slick. I got it,” she grinned. No one touched Alessa's guns except her. It was the only way to be sure they wouldn't malfunction when she was counting on them to keep her breathing. “By the way, how's your head? No longer concussed?”

“Nope, apparently you scared it away.” _Maybe I did._

“Well, if that's the case, you scared away my cut-up knees and bruised ribs.” Their gazes met over the same silent thoughts. Being together could heal them faster? “What's happening to us? I felt like I got hit by a train when I woke up, but fifteen minutes with you and I feel like I could take on the devil himself.” And she did. Her muscles were warm and loose, mind clear and alert.

“Well, I don't know about all _that_ , but I do feel better than I did. Not as tired.” If being in different hotel rooms made them weaker, then how bad would they feel on hunts in different parts of the country? Alessa mulled that over in her mind for few seconds while she reassembled her gun.

“So, for the hundredth time since I met you,” Alessa dry-fired at the floor and loaded the handgun, “I'm gonna ask, 'what now?'”

“Let Cas do his soul thing on you. It can't hurt...” he trailed off. “Well, no. It _will_ hurt, but it can't give us any less information on whatever the hell is going on with us.” Dean's calculating eyes studied her face as she thought it over. Everything in Alessa's mind was screaming for her to get away from Dean, away from angels who wanted her to fight in the apocalypse, from weird mind hookups with complete strangers. But, another part of her, one buried too deeply inside to pinpoint, knew, just _knew_ that he was sincere. He was just as freaked out as she was, and the tiny bit of compassion she'd regained since becoming a hunter allowed her to refrain from packing up her weapons and just leaving him sitting in her room as she fled.

“Fine. Call him.” Alessa closed down. Her mind was flooded with horrible images. She'd seen part of the process last night. With Castiel standing over Dean and Dean crying out in pain, it looked an awful lot like something that had been done to her a few times. Something she'd done to others more than a few times. Dean was standing by the door talking on his phone, presumably to the angel, and Alessa took the moment to close her eyes and clear her head. She was, at one time, the most feared mafia enforcer in the Leonetti Family. She had too many nicknames to keep up with and was largely unfeeling and soulless. It took a very long time for her to dig herself out of that hole once she was no longer that person. She fit in well with hunters, fighting and hunting monsters that terrorized people. Her skills were still useful, and she stayed sharp, learning different fighting techniques and how to use a new array of weapons.

Around the time Joey died, she started to feel for the innocents. Those people whose lives were torn apart by something she was hunting. Pity. Empathy. The same emotions she would not allow others to feel for her. They came in small doses, of course. She was still mostly cold, but whatever had broken in her so many years ago started to mend itself. Maybe it was because her last lifeline to her old life was severed when she salted and burned what was left of Joey's body. Perhaps it would have happened anyway. At times, she even felt fear. The past twenty four hours had proven that.

Her fears had ways of popping up at the most inopportune moments. Most of the time, she could be tied down and bleeding, and she'd be calmly telling whatever creature was standing over her to kindly 'stick that knife right up your ass, you bitch' while formulating a plan, but in very few instances her blood ran cold and she couldn't think straight. She started to feel too large to fit in her small room, and the air felt too thick to take into her lungs. Was she having a panic attack?

The hyperventilation pointed toward the affirmative. Somewhere very far away, Dean was calling out to her.

Alessa's head started to ache and blood seeped from her nose and down her lips. It tasted bitter and metallic, and _familiar_ , but not in the way it should have. She knew the taste of blood from her own dripping head wounds or the wayward splatters of a killing blow, but this sense memory was different. As visions of screeching people strapped to tables and bleeding from several fatal wounds danced through her mind, the smell of sulfur assaulted her nostrils, choking her. This was _not_ a panic attack. This was something alien to her.

In a flash, she was up, an iron knife in hand, trying to get her balance and blinkingly wishing her vision would work again. Surely, this was the work of a demon. The sulfuric odor was getting stronger. Everywhere she looked were snarling demons and tables of howling, mutilated bodies, and all of them were making inhuman noises of either glee or anguish. She dropped the knife and held her hands to her ears trying to block out the deafening roar of wails.

After what seemed like hours, the sounds started to fade a bit, and soon, were gone altogether. When Alessa opened her eyes and stood up from the defensive crouch she'd unconsciously bent her body into, she was no longer in her hotel room, but in a stone room of some kind. Before her was a writhing, mewling, naked girl shackled to an upright table. Her eyes were impossibly wide inside a mask of blood, but as she got closer, she could see that her eyelids had been cut away. As she was pulled by some unseen force toward the table, the girl started thrashing in a pathetic attempt to escape and cried out for help. Then Alessa felt it—the knife in her hand. It wasn't her standby iron blade, but a simple glinting razor. It looked like an old fashioned shaving razor, and the sight of it, the lightweight, cool metallic feel of it made her smile.

“You're doing so well, Dean. Perfecting the craft with such gusto!” A nasally, singsong voice came from behind her, but when she turned, there wasn't anyone there. Then everything went blissfully black, and she didn't even feel herself hit the stone floor.

***

When Dean awoke, Cas was right in his face saying something. _That's weird. When did I fall asleep?_ It took a few seconds for his hearing to link up with his brain, and by then, Cas was shaking him by his shoulders and repeating his name over and over.

“Move, 'm fine.” Dean wasn't entirely sure if that was true, but as the angel moved back a few steps, he realized that he was on the floor where he'd been standing when he called Cas. Scooting back and leaning against the wall, he searched his memory. He remembered dialing and telling Cas Alessa's room number, then...nothing. No. _Something_. It was vague at first, then, suddenly, he was assaulted with images of whatever kind of vision he'd had. Dean had been lying on a table with his hands _nailed_ over his head, knees bent up and feet also nailed down. It looked like he was in some run-down cabin. His muscles ached with exertion and his body was fever hot. There were four men in the room with him, and one of them was slowly removing the the flesh from his left forearm with a vicious-looking knife. As Dean bit his tongue bloody so as not to give them the satisfaction of his screams, he could hear the man in his ear, asking questions about his father. _“Where's Daddy's hideout, sweetie? C'mon, you tell us and we stop. It'll be quick for you...”_ The man had reminded him of Alastair.

It was the oddest dream he'd ever had, and that was counting the one with the dancing fish tacos. Stranger still, he might've been wearing a dress.

“Cas, what happened?”

“I don't know. You shouted Alessa's name in the middle of our call. By the time I got here, you were both unconscious.” Dean woozily rose to his feet and spotted Alessa's crumpled form in the corner. She wasn't moving, but she was alive. He'd like to say it was because he could see her breathing, but really, he could just feel it in his gut. Cas appeared by her side and laid her out on the bed before he could even move in her direction.

Dean sat down heavily in his chair and picked up the knife Alessa'd dropped beside it. He remembered now. She'd bolted up, knife in hand, and started looking around the room like she was in a different world. Her nose had been bleeding. Then his own visions had started.

“How's she doin'?” Cas was leaning over Alessa with his hand on her head.

“She's alright physically. Her mind seems to have shut down temporarily, though.”

“She's not a frickin' elevator, Cas. What's that mean?”

“Like right after someone sees something horrific. The mind's way of protecting itself.” Had Alessa seen the same vision? She seemed to be a general badass, but everyone has their limits. Maybe it was a good thing this happened before Cas tried to tickle her soul.

“Should I look at her soul while she's asleep?”

“No, Cas, you may not torture an unconscious girl. Jesus,” Dean sighed. Then just as he was speculating just how far angels had to go to get out of their comfort zones when it came to playing with people, Alessa shot up in the bed and like a flash, smashed her fist into Cas' nose, and rolled backward off the side. In less than a second, she was moving toward him again.

“Whoa, hey! Stop attacking the angel, okay?” Dean approached her with his hands up like he was attempting to calm a wild animal on the loose. Alessa froze, blinking and visibly shaking all over. A quick look toward Cas found the angel crouched down and assessing his nose with his signature furrowed brow. Alessa checked the whole room for possible threats and then stood up and straightened her clothing, putting herself back together as she went.

“I think I just saw hell.” Her voice was almost conversational, as she went to the sink and poured herself a copious amount of whiskey, downing it all in one drink. _Hell?_ She wiped the blood off her face with a kitchen towel and refilled her glass.

“What?”

“I don't know. I saw demons everywhere, and people strapped to tables. And god, they were all so loud. My eardrums felt like they were gonna burst.” Her glass was empty again. “And then I was in some room with a girl, and I think I was cutting her up. Then,” she shook her head and cleared her throat. “Then I just woke up.” She didn't apologize to Cas, but Dean didn't think anyone expected her to. He was trying to hold on to his own composure. That was the dream he'd been having when Cas had woken him up last night. It had been the first time he'd torn apart a soul without any guidance from Alastair. The demon had simply encouraged him throughout.

“Dean, was that a memory of yours?”

“You keep your mouth shut, Cas.” Dean was _not_ going to share about his time downstairs. That was for him alone to bear. If anyone else knew the particulars, he wouldn't be able to look them in the face.

“How could that be from your memory? How could that be from _anyone's_ memory?” Alessa started speaking quickly in Italian to no one in particular, but Dean could get the gist. Crazy shit was happening, and it needed to fucking stop. Simple in any language. “So, you were in hell? The voice there in the stone room, it called me 'Dean.' It said I was doing a good job. How is that possible?”

“I'm not having this conversation. I don't wanna talk about it.”

“Well, I'd like to know what's going on,” she ground out, venom in her voice.

“Good for you. I'm still not talking about it.” If she had a vision from his memories, did he have a vision from hers? He couldn't remember a specific scar on her left arm, but he hadn't looked that closely at her _arms_. She started to say something else, but Dean cut her off. “Do you want to talk about what _I_ saw? Someone in a blue and white dress _nailed_ down to a table while her arm was being stripped with a nasty knife. I'm guessing your dad pissed off the wrong people.” He knew the second the words left his lips that he'd gone too far. He never fought with anyone like this except Sam. Alessa reeled back like she'd been slapped, her right hand squeezing her left arm.

“Vaffen culo...” Alessa quietly spoke to herself in Italian, clearly cursing him, and pinched the bridge of her nose, squeezing her eyes closed. “Dean,” she started very quietly, “you need to leave the room. Castiel, please stay.” Dean wanted to tell her he was sorry, because he really was, but he left it. He knew it wouldn't make much of a difference so soon. He didn't try to reign in his guilt over it, though. Maybe she'd feel it.

Her eyes were still closed when he left the room.

***

Alessa kept her head down and counted slowly to ten, then twenty, and then thirty before she looked at Castiel. He was standing inhumanly still in the corner. The blood was gone from his face, no trace of it anywhere on his clothing. That was a neat trick.

“Have you found anything more since last night?”

“Nothing about you and Dean. I spoke with Eloa this morning. She does not want to see the world destroyed, but I'm still not sure of her loyalties.” He seemed truly dismayed over it. “I'll have to try and figure out more later.”

“So, it seems we've reached an impasse.” He looked at her then, really looked at her like she was an interesting riddle to solve. His eyes seemed to be scrutinizing every detail of her face.

“Yes, it would seem so.” Alessa turned up the bottle of whiskey and took two large swigs. The alcohol was starting to kick in, but then again, that was the intention. Getting hammered at two in the afternoon wasn't something she did often, but when she did, it was warranted.

“Okay, then. Go ahead. Give my soul a look.” The angel tilted his head, obviously trying to figure out if she was kidding. She wasn't. “I'm serious. We need to know what's happening and how to stop it before I kill him.”

“I'm sure Dean didn't mean--”

“Doesn't matter,” Alessa cut him off dismissively. “We still need the intel.” She was sober enough to seem sincere, yet drunk enough to sit back and allow it to happen. “So, what do I do?” Castiel nodded and started rolling up his sleeves.

“Would you rather sit in a chair or lie down?”

“Am I going to pass out?”

“Possibly.”

“I'll lie down.” Under different circumstances, Alessa might have been cautious, but she was emotionally wrung out. She just needed it to be over. She unhooked her belt and bit down on it as she stretched out on the bed, when her mother's voice entered her mind, clear as a bell. _“Blackbird singing in the dead of night, take these broken wings and learn to fly...”_ It was the lullaby Alessa's mother sang to her every night before bed. As Castiel leaned down and slid his hand under her ribcage, she tried to hold on to the melody.

She was successful for a few seconds until the pain lit her nerves on fire, and she escaped into unconsciousness once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations  
> vaffen culo - fuck you Actually, it's the Italian equivalent as it literally means "fuck you in the ass."


	6. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alessa meets Bobby, and the three take on a case together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some brief references to domestic violence in this chapter but nothing graphic. Mostly mild and informative.

The air was crisp as it flowed across Alessa's face and played in her hair. Despite the temperature, she had left her windows down halfway as she drove, letting the smells of the night permeate her senses and keep her alert. The clock was creeping toward one a.m. as she headed west across route 141 out of Iowa and into South Dakota. She was following the Impala's taillights down the highway and thoroughly enjoying leaving Des Moines in her dust. Bikini Kill was blasting from her speakers in one last, 'Fuck you' to the city that had completely tipped her world out of balance.

Maybe it wasn't the city's fault, but Alessa tended to stay away from cities in which spectacularly bad things had happened. Des Moines was now on that list. Plus, she _did_ technically commit murder there. There just weren't any acceptable reasons to ever set her boot-clad feet back in that city.

Dean had gotten a call around eleven that night about a hunt in Sioux Falls, and Alessa was packed and ready to go in a matter of minutes, eager to go somewhere else. Kill something. The possibility of killing a monster in some bloody way overrode her anger toward Dean. Since she stepped into the world of hunting, her bloodlust had really stepped up its game. In some moments, her compulsion to make something dead in the messiest manner possible could rival a vampire's hunger for blood. If she hadn't already accepted her status as a human monster, she might be bothered by that.

 _'Them's the breaks, Miss Boss,'_ her father's consigliere, Gavi, used to tell her. He was, beside her father, the smartest man she'd ever known, which was fitting for an advisor to the don. He was soft-spoken, but not in a way that allowed people to ignore him. Instead, a hush would fall over the people around him when he spoke so they would not to miss a single word. Gavi was Alessa's father's unofficial mentor for longer than she had been alive. He was more of a grandfather to her than a work associate. Hell, the man had changed her diapers when she was a baby.

He was gone now, though. Just like Joey. Just like her soldiers. Just like everyone. _Them's the breaks._ Time to move on.

Once she had gotten out of Des Moines and back on the road with her Chevelle rumbling under her, the world made more sense. Or not, but Alessa felt better. Castiel's soul check-up had revealed that her soul would indeed fit snugly in place with Dean's, but that wasn't such a surprise after the afternoon's visionary events. She had crashed back into consciousness with an ache that wasn't purely physical and a partial hangover. Castiel had apparently reported his findings to Dean while she was passed out and left to attend to his own angelic business.

There was still no word on Eloa.

In spite of all the current shit she was wading through, Alessa was taking the five hour drive to mentally sheath all of her nearly-tangible frayed ends and relax a little. The drives between hunts always had a peaceful influence on her. It was like a new beginning every few days. These were the times, in the wee hours of the morning on indistinguishable back roads, that she felt the most like she did back in Philly. The road had become Alessa's home, and as long as she drew breath, she'd never stop moving. Never stop fighting. _That_ sentiment was ingrained into her every cell. Nothing that had happened to her or would ever happen to her could break that.

The mid-trip fuel stop was full of Dean ignoring Alessa ignoring him. On the outside they seemed cool and collected. Just two strangers who happened to stop at the same Gas-N-Go. On the inside, Alessa was seething. It was easy to be angry with Dean because of what he said. The real anger, though, was at herself for letting his words get to her. Each one had been like a knife, slicing through her clothing and flesh and laying her bare to the world. He had seen the tragedy that had stripped away the child who enjoyed ballet and roller skates and birthed the thing she was today. The single most terrible thing that had ever happened to her. And he saw it, experienced it. Only briefly, but still. He knew.

She was only fifteen when she'd been kidnapped on her way home from school. She was held and _interrogated_ for six days for the location of her father's bunker. After two escape attempts, they had nailed her hands and feet to the table. That was the trauma that had turned her into the caporegime whom everyone feared.

When Alessa came back to herself, she realized that she had been scowling at Dean while she was lost in thought. She couldn't be sure, but it seemed that Dean was slightly afraid of her. If not afraid, then at least leery. The anger shrank back a little, and the right side of her mouth raised, giving the gas pump a pleased, predatory grin as it clicked full. When they weren't spitting venom at each other, she found him amusing.

“We gonna have a problem?” he asked. His voice was steady, but cautious. _Brave, smart boy._

“Not at the moment, no.” Alessa was still smiling when she got back in her car and pulled out of the gas station behind Dean. The fact that he was so unsure of her all of a sudden made her laugh into the night air as she drove. She felt better and more balanced. Scaring people or things who got off on being badasses was something she enjoyed almost as much as sex.

By the time the sun was chasing away the night's shadows, Alessa was following the Impala under a sign professing the place to be 'Singer Salvage Yard.' Seemingly endless piles of crushed metal and junk cars created an intricate maze of twisted, has-been vehicles. A shiver danced down her spine once then twice as a run-down house with a ragged porch came into view. Whoever this person is, they know some magic. Warding spells that jump out at you to turn away are usually the mark of a powerful witch. _How does 'Singer' get any business if protection spells unconsciously send away all the customers?_ Maybe it was just Alessa who could feel them.

After a long and interesting chat with a homicidal witch a few months ago, she found out that her penchant for sensing magic was not just a great gut feeling. She was _sensitive_ to the stuff. That nugget of information wasn't enough to save the witch's life, unfortunately. Her ashes went swimming in a few different rivers.

Alessa followed Dean up the porch stairs and eyed the man standing behind the screen door. He was gazing at her suspiciously with a set jaw and a frown. Dean opened the door and patted the man on the shoulder as he passed him.

“Hey, Bobby. This is Alessa.” Bobby didn't take his scrutinizing eyes from her face, and after a few more seconds of the intense staring match, Alessa raised her right eyebrow and smirked at him.

“Nice to meet you, Bobby.” She held her hand out and he shook it with a firm grip, still looking at her, eyes set in some unreadable emotion.

“You too,” he said gruffly, stepping back to let her into the house. It smelled musty and old, like a basement left sealed up for a few decades. Alessa sniffed. Maybe a basement where the rats enjoyed cheap liquor on a regular basis. She followed the path Dean had taken through the foyer and into the living room, which was cross-dressing as a very messy and dusty office. Dean was in the kitchen already rustling things around in the cupboards.

“Here, Bobby's gonna want you to drink this before we get down to business,” Dean said, holding out a shot glass full of a clear liquid to her.

“What is it?” Alessa took it and looked at Bobby, who was leaning against the desk situated in front of a large fireplace. His warding and protection spells twisted through the air and wrapped around her like an invisible blanket. She wondered if he could feel the warmth too.

“Holy water,” Bobby told her, nodding at her to drink it. She smiled at him and held it up in a salute.

“All in the name of trust, then.” It had been sitting around for a while and had gotten stale, but when it comes to holy water, the point isn't for it to taste spring fresh. Alessa swallowed the liquid and held the empty glass out to Bobby, who simply sat it on the desk and crossed his arms, not changing his demeanor at all.

“What's goin' on here, Dean? Who's this?” Bobby's words sloped pleasantly in a country lilt. He seemed tired, but it _was_ five in the morning.

“I told you we were on our way. You called me with a hunt. So here we are.” Dean was holding a cup of coffee, trying, and failing, to seem casual. He leaned on the doorway between the kitchen and living room. So, they hadn't been driving to a hunt, but to someone who thought he'd found a hunt. Alessa wasn't entirely sure what was going on, so she paid close attention to the two men under a guise of quiet indifference. Bobby gave Dean a look that clearly questioned his intelligence.

“I thought 'cha meant Sam, ya idjit. Where is he? And what's she doin' here?”

“Sam's somewhere in Colorado dealing with his issues. And Alessa,” Dean said, gesturing toward her, “is a hunter. We're...,” he moved his beer around like the right word was floating around in the air and he just had to catch it. “We're working together. For now. Ran into her on a vamp hunt.” Bobby shook his head in frustration.

“So, you hired a temp because you an' Sam got yer heads up yer asses. That about right?” Dean just rolled his eyes.

“My head is planted firmly on my shoulders, thanks so much, old man.”

“Are you his father?” Alessa asked, quirking up an eyebrow. Bobby took a moment to tear his eyes from Dean and look at her. For a second, it seemed she had overstepped her boundaries by interrupting the half-hearted, not-really argument, but he just huffed out a short laugh and moved behind the desk to sit down.

“Not by blood.” Just behind those words were volumes more, but neither man spoke them. Maybe because they didn't need to be said aloud to be understood. Dean cleared his throat and came forward to stand in the middle of the room.

“Anyway, you said you found a case?” Bobby held out a stack of papers to Dean and nodded.

“Whole slew a' missing persons and kidnappings in some neighborin' towns. All in the past few weeks.” Alessa walked up to the desk and picked up a stack of fliers. The first few were twenty-somethings, their faces beaming up at her from the papers declaring them missing, and after those were adults of varying ages. No real help there. The rest of the stack had been clipped together with notes scrawled haphazardly in the margins. They were all infants. Eight of them missing from Spencer, South Dakota, a town Alessa was sure wasn't known for its large population.

“Is it demonic?” she asked Bobby.

“I can't find any omens t' suggest it is,” he looked up at her, looking every bit as old as he was and possibly more, “but I really don't know what's worse—demons or somethin' else.”

“No something elses I've met have ever come close to the shittiness of demons, but,” Alessa narrowed her eyes at him at bit. “I'd say you've probably seen more than me.” She didn't see many hunters as old as he was, if her guesses at his age were anywhere close. Most of the older ones were either very, very good or batshit crazy. On rare occasions, they were both.

“That might be a fair bet. Don't know ya, though.” Then it was his turn to narrow his eyes. “Can't say for sure.” The _'I still don't trust you'_ rang clear in his voice.

“Okay, enough double entendres, you two,” Dean ground out. “Bobby, have you found anything else?”

“No one's seen anything. When all these people went missin', they jus' vanished. No signs of struggle or runaways or ransom notes. No one took their cars or packed bags. The babies all disappeared from their cribs. That's it.”

“Well,” Dean shoved the papers in a stray file folder and dug his keys out of his pocket, “I'll head over to Spencer and look around. Alessa can stay here and help do some more digging.”

“Boy, there ain't nothin' to dig _in_. Police reports brought up zilch. I can't drag anything out a'nothin'.”

Alessa turned to Dean and smiled. “It's cute that you think you're in charge, big boy.” She gave Bobby and nod and turned back toward the front door. “C'mon. We'll flip a coin to see who's driving.”

After Alessa won the initial coin toss, and then the second one after Dean asked, “Best two outta three?”, she dismissed his grinning request for, “Three outta five?” and walked to her car.

“Ya coming, or are we both driving?” He seemed to contemplate it for a second before, begrudgingly of course, ambling toward the Chevelle.

“I need to look at what kind of weapons you carry first.” Alessa gave him a blank look, unsure of whether he was joking or not. He shot her a raised eyebrow. “I know _I'm_ prepared for anything I need to fight off, but I don't even know if you carry anything more than your blades and guns.” Well, that made sense. Plus, it _would_ be nice to be able to show off her newest acquisition.

“Fair enough.” She unlocked the trunk, popped open the left side panel, and pulled on the lever there. The false bottom unlatched, and she propped it open with an iron pipe. Dean's face was somewhere between flabbergasted and enthralled. Alessa had called in a lot of favors when she and Joey had started hunting, so she had some nice armaments with which to dazzle Dean.

A large, collapsable metal rack sat down in the compartment with custom straps to hold each piece of weaponry firmly in place. When the rack was extended up, there was enough space underneath it to store the heavier artillery. She had a flamethrower, simple bomb-making equipment, a small box of protection charms and hex bags, and her most recent purchase.

She _might_ have pulled off a small diamond heist in order to trade for it.

“So, I guess we're covered.”

“Yeah, we're covered.” She was waiting for him to ask about the large case lying near the back of the compartment.

“What's in that?” He was pointing at it. _Bingo._

She grinned as if she was the Cheshire Cat and had just found a gallon of cream. It only took her a few seconds to extend the metal rack up and lock it in place so she could get the case out. After it was on the ground and opened, they both just stared. Alessa in fondness and Dean in what seemed like awe.

In all its disassembled glory, a CheyTac Intervention sniper's rifle was laying before them.

“Where the hell did you get _that_?” Dean asked, impressed.

“A guy I know. I made a trade for it.” Alessa had picked it up a couple weeks earlier. So far, she'd only used it for target practice, but hopefully something nasty would show up soon so she could try it out on something fleshy. Usually, she liked to get in close and fight, but sometimes, it was much better to take something down from 2,000 yards away...and what better to use than the Lamborghini of sniper's rifles?

“A trade? What the hell with?”

“Stolen diamonds,” Alessa laughed. 

***

The open road brought a relaxed silence between the two hunters. The tension Alessa was holding in her shoulders from her meeting with Bobby fell away, and she could feel Dean easing into the seat comfortably beside her. The Chevelle didn't have a CD player, only a tape deck, but she had installed an auxiliary port for an iPod a while ago. She'd been listening to all the Family of Thieves' music she'd amassed over the years. Sometimes, just Marcus' voice was enough to calm her down after a hard day. And with that thought, she shut Marcus out of her mind as much as he would go.

“Y'know, the iPod thing totally kills the classic-ness of this car,” Dean informed Alessa about ten minutes into the trip.

“That depends on what you play on it,” she replied. 

“Well, I guess you would know, Joan Jett.”

“I'd say I'm more a Kathleen Hanna, but either way, you're right. I _would_ know,” she grinned.

“Who?”

“Nevermind.” Neither of them were looking at each other, Alessa focused on the road and Dean stared out the window. A few more seconds passed before Dean spoke again. Alessa could feel his question building up.

“Why'd you stop singing? You could've been in a big rock band and been rich and had little rock-n-roll babies with mohawks. I bet that beats this life all to hell.” She took a moment to really think about that. It was still odd to be talking to Dean about her life, but she was over trying to stop it. Whatever was happening would continue with or without her consent, and she was usually good at handling curve balls.

“I had to choose between the band and,” she thought about how to explain without actually explaining, “another opportunity. I was eighteen and trying to figure out what fit better for me—music or the, well, I guess it was the family business.” Alessa realized she still didn't know exactly what all he knew about her from their shared visions, but saying, 'I was in the mafia,' seems a little tactless. “I chose the family business.” Dean snorted at something she said. “What?”

“The 'family business' is what we always called hunting.”

“Your whole family hunts?” That was surprising. Dean looked down at his hands and fiddled with silver band around his right ring finger.

“It's just me and Sam now. And Bobby. Sam and I were raised in it.” The rumors she'd heard were true then. Or at least partially. She wouldn't push into his family life. For all she knew, the information would pop into her head at some point, anyway.

“What was that like? Target shooting when you were seven?”

“Yeah, actually.” He laughed like the memories being drudged up were good ones, but his face didn't look mirthful. It was nearly humorless. “Kinda like being in the marines' boot camp before you can read.”

“Sounds like a nightmare.” Alessa had been placed in martial arts as soon as she could walk, taught an array of languages at the same time she was learning English, and tested on remembering details about places she went, but to be thrust into the hunting world as a fresh-faced kindergartner would be terrifying. She couldn't imagine it.

“Yeah, sometimes.” For the next half hour, neither of them said anything, and the music filled the air around them. When they passed a sign informing them that Spencer was only fifteen miles away, Alessa's mind drifted to the case. Missing persons. Missing _babies_.

“Have any idea what this thing might be?”

“Been thinking, but so far all I've got is an evil cult that magically teleports people to their crazy farm. And possibly eats babies.”

“Fantastic.”

“Yeah. You got anything?”

“Contagion in the water making people invisible and giving them affinities for kidnapping infants.” Dean gave her a sideways glance.

“Sometimes, it's like I'm talking to another me when I talk to you.” He took in a breath and opened up the file folder. “Bobby found addresses for some of these people, I'll go check those out, and you can talk to the police.” Alessa raised an eyebrow at him. His tendency to give orders without noticing would get old quickly.

“Oh, I can, huh?”

“Yeah, you can. Spencer cops know me already, so that really only leaves the one plan. Is that alright with you, princess?”

“If you want to keep your scrotum intact, you'll refrain from calling me that. And yes, that's fine.”

***

Dean was cruising down Sparrow Lane watching the mailboxes' numbers fall by twos. He was looking for 1135 while scanning the quaintness for abnormalities. The rumble of the Chevelle's 454 didn't feel the same as his own 357, but it was comforting. His jaw had hit the floor when Alessa allowed him to use her car to visit the victims' families.

The neighborhood he was driving through was one of two. He'd already talked to three families from the other side of town, which in Spencer meant that he'd had to drive down Main Street for a mile to get from one side to the other. It made things go a little faster, though. He had dropped Alessa at the police headquarters after stopping at a gas station outside of town to change into her FBI garb.

He had to admit that Alessa was very easy on the eyes. His eyes sometimes wanted to go live with her she was so easy on them. She had pulled a dark purple business suit out of the back of the car, complete with a skirt on the verge of too short and black heels he hoped she would be able to run in if the need arose. With the shoes on, she was able to look him in the eye when they switched drivers. It was impressive that she was even able to walk in them. Her legs went on for miles... He was caught in some kind of limbo where part of him wanted to team up with her and never leave her alone and another part of him just wanted to fuck her senseless. There _was_ a reason he slept with her that first night before he knew she was a hunter.

When he stopped imagining her long, shapely legs, he realized that he was coming up on the house. It was a charming A-frame house seated behind a row of bushes and flowers. It belonged on a postcard or in a Thomas Kinkade painting. The other side of town was full of trailer parks, cars up on blocks and suspicious eyes. This side of town seemed to be picturesque suburbia, but from what he could remember of Spencer, it basically had the same kind of people as the other side; these just had more money. He parked the car at the curb and grabbed his realistically faked FBI credentials from the seat beside him. He'd already explained his lack of a monkey suit three times, and expected to have to do it again. Because this was such an important case, the FBI had pulled him out of his yearly South Dakota vacation to look into the disappearances. Seemed kind of viable, right? At least he might get something other than, _“Why ain'tcha dressed up all fancy-like?”_

“Mrs. Kranski?” The woman jumped, startled out of her trance state and looked around, disoriented. Once she regained some sense of self, she looked at him with the eyes of a puppy that'd been kicked around all its life. The chains clanked against each other at the top of the porch swing she was occupying.

“Y-yes?” Her voice was as small as she was. She stood up, clutching a blue baby blanket to her chin, but didn't seem to actually take up any more space. She stood by the front of the house like if she stepped too far away from it, gravity would shut off and lift her away.

“I'm Agent Ian, and I'm looking into some disappearances from this area. Could I talk with you for a few minutes?” Dean said softly, trying not to spook the poor woman. She seemed to mull this over for a second before lowering the blanket and nodding.

“Okay. That's okay, I-I guess,” she mumbled.

“Great. Thank you, Mrs. Kranski.”

“M-Marian. Call me Marian.”

“Of course, Marian. Thank you. Now, what can you tell me about your son's disappearance?” She flinched, but regained her composure quickly. She used the hand not holding the blanket to rub at her arm where a myriad of bruises were littering her skin. Old _and_ fresh ones. Dean was starting to get the picture here. She took in a deep breath and looked to the ground for courage.

“A couple nights ago, I put Jeffrey to sleep and left him in his crib. I-I got up at two to check on him, and he was gone. All the doors and windows were still locked from the inside. Nothing was taken except him. Jeffrey was gone. He just v-vanished,” she sobbed. Dean awkwardly patted her on the back.

“Okay, okay, just tell me if you can remember noticing anything strange the night before or even after. Nothing's too strange for me, I promise.” Marian started taking fast breaths, trying to calm down. She kept muttering, 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry,' as quickly as she could. Dean was pissed on this lady's behalf. He suddenly wanted to rip something apart. The rage took over his vision, and for a split second, he saw red. A moment later, it was gone. He shook the remaining shivers out of his spine and refocused on the woman trying to manage her grief. It was possible _that_ particular angry bout wasn't even his own, but Alessa's.

“It's alright. I know it's hard, just take some deep breaths and think of anything you might have noticed out of place.” She closed her eyes and bit her lip, breathing deeply through her nose.

“Um, nothing really. Just, something, well, nothing.” She was rambling.

“ _Anything_ , Marian. Even if you don't think it means something. It could help,” Dean coaxed.

“I, uh, found this piece of cloth in the floor of Jeffrey's room, with a symbol on it, but my husband gave it to the cops. I'd never seen it before, though. After Darrel touched it, he almost passed out.” She lifted her eyes up to Dean's, but quickly focused on something behind him. “He's been all out-of-sorts since then. Sleeping a lot. Talking nonsense to no one. I tried to wake him up this morning, but he just, uh, p-pushed me away.” She looked back down at the nicely manicured bushes in front of the porch and wiped at her nose discreetly.

“Hey, Maaarian, where're ya?” a male voice slurred from inside the house. Marian panicked for a second, pushing Dean's hand off her shoulder before running her hands down her dress to smooth any wrinkles.

“I'm-I'm here, honey. On the porch.” A man stumbled out the door in a wrinkled undershirt and camouflage shorts.

“Who th' hell is thiss?” he slurred at her angrily.

“Federal agent Ian, sir,” Dean stated tightly through his teeth, with as much of a smile as he could muster, but it was probably more of a menacing grin.

“We talked t'enough cops about this, we don' need t'tell anyone else what happened.” The man was swaying on his feet, but he was slowly moving toward Dean and Marian.

“Even if it helps find your son?”

“How can you find 'im when no one else can?”

“Well, you might say I'm kind of a specialist, sir.” Darrel just frowned and reached toward Marian.

“You talked enough, Mar, come inside now. An' put down that goddam' blanket,” he grumbled at Marian. Defeatedly, she let him drag her toward the door, throwing Dean an apologetic look on the way. This guy was trying Dean's last nerve. He had the urge to show him what it was like to have some bruises of his own.

“Just one more thing, Marian. What was the symbol on the cloth you found? What did it look like?”

“It was a face with wings on the sides. N-Native American, maybe? The face was laughing.” Those were the only words she got out before her husband pulled her inside and slammed the door. Dean was fairly certain no one would miss this guy if he accidentally got ganked, salted, and burned. Instead of kicking the door down and beating him to death, though, he got back in the car and called Bobby to see if he knew anything about Native American winged faces. Maybe the symbol on the cloth was slowly killing Darrel. That would be nice.

Dean visited two more houses before starting to feel the lethargy from being away from Alessa. Sure, his muscles were telling him to go wrestle some alligators, but all his brain wanted to do was sleep. He, as a whole, felt very torn. As he drew closer to the police station, he felt less tired, but something was wrong. Alessa's anger leeched into his bones, pure and undiluted. He didn't know what had happened, but it was enough to piss her off. He could tell that someone was getting very close to having their ass handed to them in a gift basket. Possibly with their arms and other appendages arranged around it in a bow.

As much as he wanted to burst through the doors and demand to know what was happening, he knew he couldn't do that. He was wearing a green hunting jacket and slightly dirty jeans. That might be enough to fool a few grieving families, but not the Spencer police. In fact, most of them probably remember him from his last trek through the little town. It was right after the shape-shifter had taken Dean's face and robbed a bank with it. Underestimating the small-town cops had almost gotten him put in prison, so he wasn't going to bet his freedom on the chance that a couple years' time would erase his face from their minds.

So, that only left one hurdle with other various foreseeable hurdles attached—how was he going to break in and eavesdrop in the middle of the day in a police station?

He figured winging it would be the best option.

The back door was a simple two-lock deal, no deadbolt or alarm, so he made quick work of picking them. He was staring down a hallway with voices and telephones ringing all around him, so he ducked into the first door he found without a name on it, hoping it wasn't an unidentified office. Thankfully, it was the lounge, but he didn't have much time to process his good fortune. Alessa was standing behind a cop with her arm wrapped around his neck, effectively cutting off the blood flow to his brain. He was still struggling but only with diminished efforts. Her eyes shot to his, thinking he was another target to be put down.

Her hair had partly fallen out of the bun she'd wrapped it up in and was obscuring half of her face from view. She looked like an executive business woman who'd just gotten passed over for a higher position and had finally broken. Her suit, or what Dean could see of it, was still impeccably pressed, and she wasn't showing much exertion. If she wasn't choking out a grown man, she might have been having a conversation about where to eat lunch.

“Dude, what happened?” he hissed at her as she let the cop slump to the floor half on top of one of his buddies.

“I got made. They called the real feds who are on their way, and one thing led to another, and I was arrested and interrogated.”

“So, you're not on the most wanted list?” She shook her head.

“Are you?” she asked, scanning the windows for a quick exit.

“Yeah, guess I'm just special.” All the windows were plastered into the walls, so they didn't open unless they were broken with a very loud gun shot. “There's a back door down the hall. C'mon!” One of the cops was starting to stir, and their friends would probably notice their absences soon.

Without incident, they made it down the road to the car.

“Did you find anything out before they fingerprinted you?” Dean asked once they were down the road a few miles.

“Not really. They found a couple pieces of cloth with symbols on them at some of the houses, but I didn't get to see them. And fingerprinting me won't get them anywhere.” She held up her right hand for Dean to see. He pulled her hand closer to his face. Each of her fingertips had been altered enough for her original fingerprints to be unrecognizable. Dean knew how to do it, but truthfully, the feds already knew his face and that he had a knack for coming back from the dead, so dripping acid on his fingertips wasn't really high on his to-do list.

“Bet that hurt like a bitch.”

“Yeah, we used razors and lye. It was pretty awful.”

“Why don't you just wear gloves when you do crime?”

“Because of days like today. If I get caught and can't escape, which is unlikely,” she grinned at him, “they'll be able to prove who I am with DNA testing. Because I might be on that most wanted list after all. But, if I just get fingerprinted and get out before anything can really go down, all they'll have is someone with prints not in any database.” Dean took a moment to think about this. So, if she was so important to the FBI, who was she exactly? He knew one of her darkest moments, and he could feel her emotions like they were his own sometimes, but what did he really know about her?

“So, what'd you do to get on the 'Very Bad Criminal' list?”

“What'd _you_ do?”

“Shapeshifter decided to use my face to commit murder. Then another one used my face to rob a bank.” She laughed a little.

“So, you're telling me that you're innocent of all the charges they brought against you?”

“Definitely not, darlin',” he smirked. “And you didn't answer me.”

“I actually did some very bad criminal things.” She had turned away and shut down, which irritated Dean. He'd pretty much told her everything she wanted to know but wouldn't return the favor.

“Listen, I know we're sort-of soul-mates and all, but I'm never going to trust you if you don't tell me some things about yourself.” Alessa didn't say anything. She didn't move, and might have even stopped breathing. Hell, for all Dean knew, she was probably some sort of super soldier robot gone rogue and didn't need to breathe. _Okay, probably not. Robots can't be that good in the sack._

After a very long minute of silence as Alessa seemingly focused on the road and completely ignored Dean, she looked at him and sighed. He could feel that she was arguing with herself in her head, but the particulars weren't clear.

“Look, I'd tell you to keep your mouth shut, but I don't know if you will or not, so I'll just skip over the parts that could get people I love in worse shape than they already are.” Then, very sharply, he could hear her voice in his head. _“So, where do I start?”_

“Start anywhere. Anything's better than nothin'.” She looked at Dean for a second but ended up just shaking her head and breezing past the I-heard-your-voice-in-my-head conversation they could have had.

“Fine. Do you know much about the Cosa Nostra? The mafia?” _That_ took Dean off-guard. Of all the things she could have said, he didn't expect to hear those words.

“Uh, not really. Not from recent years, anyway. Mostly, I know about the New York families back in the day. And Chicago. Al Capone. Like most people, I guess.”

“I can't believe I'm telling you this. If this was under different circumstances, we'd both be dead, but everything's kind of gone to hell for me anyway.” She was having a conversation more with herself than Dean, but he was beginning to get a picture of who she was. _“I chose the family business”_ suddenly had a whole new meaning.

“My father was the Don of the Philly Family. I learned a lot of things when I was a kid, and then later I added to those things, as you might've noticed.” She grinned at him.

“Yeah, the whole 'my body is a lethal weapon thing.' I've noticed.”

“That, and I can tell you the makes, models, and plate numbers of the last ten cars we've passed. I learned to be more observant than the average joe.” The humor fell from her face, and she paused, looking unsure of telling him anything more.

“Go on. It's not like I'm gonna go running to the Feds.” She turned and looked at him for a long second before nodding and returning her eyes to the road.

“My dad allowed me be a soldato when I was 18. A soldier. Do you know what that is?”

“Just tell me, don't go all teacher on me.” Alessa rolled her eyes, but did give him a half-smile.

“Cacasenno,” she mumbled. He stayed quiet, even though it was kind of annoying to be called names in a language he didn't speak. He could call her all manners of names in latin, but she probably spoke that too.

“I was a soldier for awhile, then I got promoted to capo. Caporegime. Capos have their own soldiers. Each one is like a little unit. We chose our own soldiers, and we were each in charge of certain duties.”

“Like a CO.”

“Kind of. Without all the patriotism. The Italian Families aren't exactly the same as they were back in the day. We were in an assortment of business ventures. You name it, and we had a hand in it, but it went beyond weapons and drugs. My unit was in charge of trade with the Russians and information retrieval.” Dean digested that down into smaller bits. Firstly, Alessa was an international criminal trading god knows what with Russians. Probably the Russian Mafia.

Okay.

Secondly, Alessa's unit was in charge of breaking people so they'd spill their guts. _Bad word choice._

As Alessa kept going, he stayed very quiet and stopped asking for elaborations.

***

They were about fifteen miles out of Sioux Falls when Alessa got tired of Dean's silence. She had told him everything without going into the terribly incriminating details, and all he'd done was sit there for the last ten minutes. She'd gone over the basics of her time as a made woman, and told him, more or less, what she'd told Marcus. Her foray into the hunting world. A brief summary on Joey. The demons. How members of the Family she knew were still in prison after the Merlino Family had taken over their most crucial clients and then attacked them at their weakest time. She breezed over some of the more sinister activities she'd been involved in but figured he understood more than the average person would.

“Look, if you got something to say, now's the time, because after we get out of this car, I'm not talking about it anymore. I'm done. My past is just that, the past.” Dredging up all of her most painful moments twice in less than three days was more introspection than she'd participated in since Joey had been alive. Hell, even before that. If she never had to tell anyone about her past again, it would be too soon.

“I really don't know what to say, and believe me, _that_ is a first.” His face was serious as he ran his hand through his sandy hair.

“You've really never met anyone with a worse criminal history than me?”

“Well, yeah, but I've never wanted to keep working with them after knowing it.” That was an odd statement.

“What do you mean?”

“You're one of the most badass people I've ever met, and I'm Dean Winchester.” He chuckled a little, but kept his eyes serious. “You can handle yourself better than just about anyone I know, and you've got the brains to go with the muscle. But, you were in some seriously bad shit, and if you bring anything down on me or mine because of who you are or how little of a conscience you have, it will be the worst mistake you've ever made,” Dean said very deliberately. Alessa had to hand it to him; the man knew how to properly threaten someone. Don't tell them anything exact, just let their imaginations run wild. Too bad threats didn't work on her.

“I get what you're saying. If I had anyone to claim, I'd give you the same speech.” He gave her a little nod, and that was the last of it.

“By the way, what's Cosa Nostra really mean?” Dean asked. Alessa looked over at him to gauge his mood after the threat he'd just issued, but there was no trace of malice or anger. His eyebrows were slightly raised waiting on her answer.

“It means, _this thing of ours_ or _our thing._ It's what the Sicilians called the Family when they first set their roots down in Italy. We still use the term today.” Alessa thought about it for a second, and added, “I guess it's not really 'we' or 'our' anymore. I'm not a part of it now,” She tried to keep the sadness out of her voice and face, but she felt in her mind that Dean could still tell. It was odd, and Alessa didn't want to talk about herself anymore.

Silence took over the car once more, so Alessa turned on some music. Family of Thieves' third album had been playing last, and it picked up where it had been stopped.

_“And they burnt up the diner where I always used to find her_  
Licking young boys' blood from her claws  
And I learned about the blues from this kitten I knew  
Her hair was raven and her heart was like a tomb  
My heart's like a wound” 

“Jesus, Marcus write this about you?” Dean asked.

“Maybe, I don't know,” Alessa replied evenly, shrugging one shoulder. This album, _Great Expectations_ , had been put out after Alessa and Joey disappeared.

“Yeah, you do.” Dean turned his eyes to her, like he could see right through her. It was possible that he could. She gave him a sidelong, considering look.

“Yeah. I do.”

“You know him like you know yourself.” It was a statement. Alessa was tired of story time about her life. It also didn't help that Dean could hear some of her thoughts.

“I used to. Not anymore. We turned into different people while we were apart, and I'd never ask him into this life or to be let back into his if it was possible. I'd never risk his life. Not even to know him again.” Alessa realized that she'd once again, said more than she meant to and switched the music to something else, _anything_ else, and drove the rest of the way without even hearing what she'd chosen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations  
> cacasenno - smartass So, basically that's got to be one of Dean's names in Italian.


	7. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lively hunt, complete with baby-drinking baddies and giant, flame-y swords of death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing in here is worse than the violence on the show. Do I trigger warning for surliness? :)

Alessa lost interest in research around hour three and began watching Dean and Bobby interact. They thought alike, although Bobby is usually at least half a step ahead of Dean at any given time, whether he lets it be known or not. She doesn't miss how Bobby gets up to make sandwiches a few moments before Dean's stomach starts to rumble in hunger. Despite the pair not being related by blood, it's very much the portrait of a father and son team. Granted, this team is trying to figure out what kind of supernatural beastie is snatching people left and right (and hopefully how to kill it), but it's still a nice reminder that even in the fucked-up world of hunting, some people can find a sense of relative normalcy.

The ancient book in Alessa's hands is slightly water-damaged, but the ink has stood the test of time and moisture. It _would_ be infinitely more impressive if it could tell her anything about a symbol of a laughing face with wings, though. For awhile, she was fake-reading it, but after half an hour of that, she dropped the pretense and settled into the couch with it simply laying on her stomach.

Even with Dean and Bobby falling into a pleasant routine together, working with other people after being on her own for so long was starting to wear on her nerves a bit. She probably wouldn't find anything in Bobby's impressive collection of occult books that the man himself couldn't find, and Dean was thinking so loudly that she was frequently getting snippets of his thoughts in her own head. 

She needed a break.

The back porch overlooked part of the junkyard. The dim overhead light threw deep shadows on the stacks of vehicles closest to the house. In the dark, they resembled husks of long-dead giants, their shells still somehow standing proud years later. Alessa plopped down on an old wooden chest resting under the window, leaned back and stretched her feet out in front of her. Her fingers itched for a cigarette. She'd given up the habit after almost losing a dirty informant when he outran her through the back streets of downtown Philly. Monsters were typically faster than dirty informants, so smoking was still a bad idea, but she kept a pack of Marlboro reds in the glove box for those rare occasions when she needed one.

To get to her car, however, she'd either have to walk all the way around the house and hope Bobby hadn't set any traps or go back through the house. Since she was feeling lazy and constricted, just sitting on the back porch in the cool night air was enough to help her clear her mind. Apparently, it was also enough distance to quiet Dean's thoughts from running through her head. The link between them was growing stronger. Not only could she hear intermittent thoughts from him, but most of his moods were broadcasted loud and clear into her mind. And body. At times, Alessa's body would thrum with energy that didn't belong to her.

The chest creaked under her weight, and she slid off the side to the floor, not wanting to break it. She was happy to only have herself in her head and let a few minutes pass just listening to the sounds of the night. Being a city girl, the country always seemed so relaxed. No sirens or car horns, no bright lights. It was pleasant.

Alessa found it difficult to keep her mind off the impending apocalypse. Even the phrase 'impending apocalypse' was a hard pill to swallow. She'd always believed that there was a heaven and a hell, but she wasn't so sure about all the ground rules surrounding which one souls were assigned to after death. In her heart, she felt that heaven would be a stretch for her, but maybe she'd do enough good while hunting to wipe some of her more terrible acts off her slate. She didn't want much after she died. Only peace. If not that, then at least nothingness, maybe.

Still, though. Trying to understand that there was even _more_ serious shit going on than what she spent her days hunting would take some time. God was missing in action. Angels were divided on whether to keep humans around or not. Fucking _Lucifer_ was walking the Earth. And right smack dab in the middle was Alessa, supposed fighter against the agents of heaven and hell.

The only things at stake were about seven or so billion people and a whole planet. At least she had Dean in the thick of it as well. If they failed, they could share the blame for the few seconds before Earth was nuked.

There was always a bright side, right?

Alessa shifted her hips to find a more comfortable position, and bumped the chest where she had been sitting at first. Something slid around inside and lightly thumped against the side, letting a softly resonant, albeit off-tune, chord ring out. She had never been able to resist checking out musical instruments, especially ones with strings. The padlock on the front of the trunk was no match for her lock-picks, and soon she was holding a perfectly preserved acoustic guitar. She could sense a magical seal on the box, so everything inside was dust-free and perfectly preserved, unlike most of other Bobby's belongings.

The fingerboard was adorned with intricate inlays of white pearl swirls, and the design was continued on the body in a meticulous manner. She picked at the strings lightly, twisting the tuning pegs until there weren't any flat or sharp notes when she strummed. This was the first time Alessa had held a guitar in years. The last time was in Philly when Marcus was working on Thieves' second album. He'd asked her to help him work through his writer's block on a particular song.

As she ran through a few chord progressions and scales, the muscle memory in her fingers took over and she began softly playing an old traditional Italian tune Gavi had sung to her over and over throughout her childhood. She felt calm and relaxed, focusing only on the song and nothing else. The whole act was reminiscent of her weapon-cleaning rituals, but that feeling was nothing compared to this one. This was a kind of contentment she'd never be able to find in anything else. The happiness took her by surprise, and she found herself laughing as she filtered through to the chorus of the song. Gavi's voice was singing in her head, and she simply closed her eyes and let her fingertips do the work.

All of these emotions and memories Alessa had spent so many years trying to dispose of were coming back in waves. She sang the last stanza, which was about standing up proudly and taking your licks on the chin, and felt slightly less broken than she usually did.

The last chord rang out, and Alessa was left smiling. She remembered how Gavi taught her to play the guitar when she was a little girl and how wonderful she felt when she finally learned this song.

“You seem like someone who's been takin' care of herself for a long time,” Bobby said from the doorway. Alessa raised an eyebrow at him and lowered the gun she'd drawn on him when the floor creaked under his foot.

“I guess,” she replied guardedly, sliding the gun back in her holster. “You speak Italian,” she said, surprised. Bobby walked over to her and leaned against the porch railing, facing her. His eyes ran over the guitar she was still holding on her lap. A mixture of pain and memory swirled in his gaze.

“That was my wife's. Her dad made it for her out of a tree he cut down on their property. Sugar maple, I think. Made it heavier, but she liked its sound.” Alessa could tell that he was seeing his wife holding the guitar just then instead of her. Late wife, maybe. Or ex-wife, but she suspected the former. She nodded.

“It has a good sound. Rich.” She clicked her tongue. “It's a fine piece.” And it was. “I'd say I'm sorry for snooping, but it'd be a lie.” Alessa remembered the preservation spell on the trunk then, and the protection wards surrounding the house and yard. “Nice work on keeping this thing cleaned up, by the way. You're handy with your herbs. Even the strings still work.”

“I know a few things. And I'm good at improvisin'.” He had ended his trip down memory lane and was looking Alessa square in the eye. “Just like you're good at hidin' who ya are. One thing, though. You shouldn't use your real name so much,” he told her casually. “S'not a very common one.” Alessa smiled at him. She'd suspected that he knew who she was from the moment he saw her. The look of recognition at the door that morning wasn't one usually reserved for strangers.

“I like my name. It was a gift from my mother.” She leaned toward him like she was going to divulge a great secret. “It means 'defender of mankind.' Isn't that funny?” she said in a low voice. 

“I suppose it is now. Used to be ironic, though, didn't it?” There was nothing accusatory in his voice. He just stood there and looked at her, arms crossed. It was reminiscent of the deceptively easy stance he'd taken when they'd first arrived early that morning.

“No, I still defended mankind if they were a part of my family.” Alessa started picking at the strings again, but didn't look at them. Bobby was testing her.

“I see. And now?” He raised his right eyebrow.

“Now, I kill as many evil motherfuckers as I can.”

“And the innocents in the way?” She didn't blink.

“Most of them make it.”

“Are ya startin' to feel it when they don't?” Alessa hesitated, but finally relented with the truth.

“...yes.” It had started as a tiny tightness in her chest when she and Joey were unable to save a little girl from a rawhead. Over the months, that feeling got tighter and more pronounced with every person she was unable to save. Her humanity was not completely dead, but underneath the guilt and self-hatred, she hid her darkness. The monster she used to be. The evil that lived inside of her waited for daylight, but she was vigilant in making sure it never completely took her over again.

Bobby scrutinized her for a few long seconds, nodded, and headed back to the door.

“Good. C'mon in when ya get done. I think I found somethin'.”

The screen door slammed closed behind him, leaving a second of stunned silence after. Soon, though, the crickets picked up their chirping, and the wind floated through the trees, making their leaves whisper. Alessa sat a few more moments, gaining her inner resolve once again. She quietly strummed and enjoyed the feeling of holding an instrument in her hands again. She had kept herself closed off for such a long time.

Funny how just a few days with another person inside her head could rip open her carefully-packed emotions.

She placed the guitar back inside the chest-where-time-stopped with care and relocked it. It was time to go find out what exactly needed to be killed and figure out the best way to do it.

“Well, now that Loretta Lynn's back from her break, we can get down to business,” Dean said.

“I'm not the one who drooled a lake in Bobby's copy of Native American Cultures.” His eyes widened comically as he turned to Bobby and gave him smile.

“So, you found something because you're a genius?” he asked the older man, eyes wide and apologetic. Bobby scowled at him and finished off his drink.

“Yeah, I found somethin', ya idjit.” He turned the book laid out on his desk around so the image on the left page was visible and pointed to it. “This is the symbol of Supai, the Incan god of death and greed.” The face was twisted into more of a snarl than a smile, and sharply pointed teeth spilled out over its lips in a shark-like manner. Blood-red wings adorned each side of its face, making it into a very fucked-up caricature of an angel. _A shark angel of death. Perfect._

“Death and greed. It couldn't be the Incan god of frisky women and pie. Of course.”

“Shut up, Dean. I ain't finished,” Bobby said exasperatedly. Dean shut up. “Supai can feed on the wicked through depictions of his symbols, which explains why Mr. Domestic Abuse got so tired after he touched the cloth with the symbol on it. Where ever he is, he's feeding on the lives of whatever scumbags touched those cloths.”

“So, why now? Why is he popping up now after this long? In South Dakota of all places?” Alessa was pretty rusty on Incan gods, but she was pretty sure none of them ever existed north of South America.

“I don't know. Legend has it that he got too greedy and the other gods offed 'im, but he's the only who fits.”

“What about all the missing persons?”

“The book mentions human followers, but I don't know if they were enchanted to follow 'im or if they were just crappy people. I do know that the Incas sacrificed over a hundred infants every year to this god, an' if they were lucky, he left 'em alone for a few months at the most.”

“They killed babies? _Hundreds_ of babies?” Dean asked, incredulous.

“Well, no. They left them on an altar, an' he came an' drank their blood.” That was it. This was going to end _now_.

“How do we kill him?” Alessa asked, steely resolve evident in her voice and posture. “And where is he?”

“Acacia wood stake to th' heart, which I got here, and I'm still workin' on th where. You two should use that psychic thing you got goin' to help me out a little.” Alessa looked at Dean and thought her question a second before she said it. Or before she _meant_ to say it.

“Yeah, princess, I told him. I thought maybe he could help us figure out what it means since our,” he looked up at the ceiling and raised his voice, “fuckin' angel is currently missing in action.” She snorted.

“Is it sacrilegious to swear at the heavenly hosts?” Dean just rolled his eyes and slumped back down on the couch.

“Hey, Bobby, do you have a map of the areas where people went missing?” Alessa asked. He rummaged around in one of the desk drawers and produced a map that had definitely seen better days. Alessa smoothed it out as much as she could on the kitchen table. “Give me the addresses of the people who went missing.” As Bobby called them out, she started putting Xs on each address. Dean came over and stood beside her, eyes intent on each mark she made. When they were done, it was clear where they were headed. All the disappearances were surrounding a large, wooded area.

“So, somewhere in this thirty square-mile patch of forest. That really narrows it down,” Dean sighed. Bobby joined them at the table and studied the map for a few seconds.

“We should start here,” he pointed to a spot about four miles into the east side, where many of the disappearances were clustered. “That many people'll need shelter, and there's an old barn here.”

“How do you know that, Bobby?” asked Dean. The older man looked at him, completely straight-faced.

“I might've taken a girl or two there.” A ghost of a smirk passed his lips. “You two better get ready. We're leavin' as soon as I find that acacia wood stake.” He started looking around the living room, mumbling to himself. “Maybe it's downstairs...” Bobby ambled off in the direction of the stairs. Dean was still staring after Bobby with a look of disgust.

“Blech. Thinking about Bobby having sex is too much. I'd rather go against a tribe of werewolves.” Alessa just patted him on the back and headed to the door.

“Come on, big boy. Time to suit up.”

***

They were sitting in the Impala on a service road about a mile from the barn just as the sky was beginning to lighten. Bobby was riding shotgun and Alessa was sitting behind Dean scanning the forest around the car for signs of movement. It reminded him of meeting Marcus. The night everything changed.

“So, the plan is for you two to hold off the possible minions and find the kids while I go after the baby-eating death god, right?” Dean hoped it hadn't actually eaten any of them yet. Or drank them. Technically, it was a baby- _drinking_ death god. Alessa snorted. Maybe that she heard his inner correction.

“Yeah, unless you get your ass kicked again. Then we might have to step in and save it,” she replied, dryly. There was no humor in her voice, but her eyes had a tiny speck of mischief in them as he locked gazes with her in the rearview mirror. She was mentally preparing for a possibly tricky fight. They were going to be running into a building that might hold an ancient god and an unknown number of followers. At least twenty, since that was how many people had been reported missing. It would be smart to do some more research or at least a tiny bit of recon before charging in like an overzealous cavalry, but there was no time.

The babies tipped the scales from going in 'carefully and properly prepared' to 'mounting up and hoping for the best.'

“Shut up, I'm capable of taking care of my ass on my own, thanks.”

“Are you two gonna sit here an' bicker or are we gonna go hunt this thing?” Bobby grumbled as he got out of the car, wielding his acacia stake. Dean unfolded himself and let Alessa out, watching her roll the kinks out of her shoulders before sliding her sword into place at her side. He was starting to get the hyper-alert buzz in his mind that usually took over before a fight. Everything seemed clearer, and he could hear and sense the smallest movements around him. If anything, his connection to Alessa was extending the range of his attentiveness.

Bobby passed the stake to him as they rounded the car, and with a nod between them, the hunt was on. They silently followed Bobby down an overgrown trail, carefully sidestepping twigs and staying light on their feet. Dean couldn't see or really hear Alessa behind him, but he could sense her. It was like having two heartbeats, one in his chest and another in his ears.

They moved quickly and were soon within sight of the barn. Alessa took point and gestured with her hand that she would scan the perimeter to the right and for Dean and Bobby to head left. She had her sword hanging from her shapely, black jean-clad left hip, and her guns were making slight bulges in her overshirt at the shoulders. Complete with the knives he knew were strapped to her wrists, she looked like some exotic assassin. Some character Angelina Jolie would play in a movie. She smirked at him and turned to check the right side.

 _“Stop checking me out, Dean.”_ He heard the thought clearly in his head in her voice. That should have freaked him out a little, but it didn't. It felt natural. He and Bobby headed left.

The underbrush around the barn was heavy and overgrown, making it easy to hide, but not particularly easy to move through quickly and quietly. Every noise Dean made seemed amplified, but the guards didn't look up when they met back up on the other side of the barn. There were four guards at the front doors and two in back. The were obviously some of the missing people. The back guards were a man in a dirty, but expensive business suit and an older woman in a floral dress and pastel purple sweater. They looked mismatched, but their stances were rigid, focused. When the woman scanned over the brush where the three were squatting, her eyes burned a rich copper color, like backlit pennies.

So, this was definitely the place. They backtracked into the woods a bit to form a plan.

“Two of us should take the back an' one in front. They won't be expectin' an attack from behind. Too much open space between the doors an' the woods. Wouldn't be practical,” Bobby said, lowly. Alessa nodded.

“I'll take the front, then. Dean'll need to go in the back, and you can go with him, Bobby. He'll need all the advantages he can get,” she said. Dean's skin crawled at the thought of Alessa taking on four people at once, not to mention whatever was lurking inside, but the image of her seamlessly slicing through vampire after vampire threaded through his mind, and he found himself feeling sorry for the guards instead.

He held in the urge to ask Alessa if she was planning on killing the guards or just incapacitating them. He knew what her matter-of-fact answer would be. Dead guards don't wake up and fuck things up for you. He would take that chance because he had never been in the mafia. His first instinct was to protect grannies in easter pastels. Not shoot them in the head.

Alessa was already heading to the front, so Dean shoved all of his thoughts down. Time to move and react. Not think.

“Here goes nothin',” he mumbled. _Here goes everything._

In the end, he took on the business guy and left Bobby to knock out the grandma. He swallowed down the 'old people sticking together' comment and just smirked. Bobby cuffed him on the back of the head anyway and jacked a shell into his sawed-off. They slowly opened the doors and peeked through. Alessa was already inside currently taking on about ten people at once. They all had the same glowing, bronze eyes and were snarling as Alessa picked her way through them. He found himself staring as she danced around them, just out of reach for all those she was currently dropping. Her sword was still at her side, unused, and her guns were still holstered at her shoulders. She had her knives out, one in each hand, and was, for the most part, leaving the followers unconscious or injured instead of dead.

“Go on, boy! We got this,” Bobby said, stepping into the fight. Dean stayed crouched for a second and dragged his eyes away from the battle royale in the center of the barn. Under the loft, an altar was set up, covered in blood. The ceremonial cloth was soaking in it. A gnarled, emaciated man stood behind it, holding a dagger and watching the fight with interest. Despite his slight frame, the way he held himself suggested that he wasn't as frail as he looked. Nine followers were surrounding him, kneeling around the altar with their eyes shut in prayer, seemingly blind and deaf to the fight going on behind them. In front of each one of them, lying on large pillows, was a baby. Dean looked around the rest of the barn, but nothing else was amiss. Besides the nightmare-fest under the loft and the fight, the barn was just an ordinary barn. Hay, equipment, tools. His hand tightened around the stake as he looked back at the man.

Was that _troll_ the great god of death? Or was he the one summoning it? If he could kill that man, would it save everyone else?

He snuck inside the barn, ducking behind a stack of molded hay and sneaking a look around at the altar. One of the followers was standing and placing a baby on the bloody cloth in front of the man. The child was screaming itself hoarse, red-faced and terrified. The man brandished the dagger over the infant and started chanting, eyes squeezed shut. _Oh, hell no._ A shiver forced itself down Dean's spine at the realization of where the blood came from, and before he could stop himself, he was charging the altar, stake raised in his right hand. If it could kill a god, it sure as hell could skewer this fucking disgrace of a man. The man looked up, his face more surprised than afraid and just watched Dean rush at him. He waited until Dean got right up to the altar, his fingertips almost close enough to reach the baby's foot, and then brought the blade down.

“No!” Dean screamed as the horror of what he'd just seen overtook him and he changed the direction he was heading just enough to head straight at the man behind the altar. He brought the blunt end of the stake across his nose, knocking him to the ground and following him down. The man's nose was bleeding heavily, coating half of his face sticky and red. Still, as Dean hovered over him, stake raised, he smiled. Rotten teeth covered in blood taunted him.

“Why?! Why would you do this?” Dean demanded. He couldn't fathom it.

“My god is a great one,” he spit out, in a raspy voice, “and he will reward us greatly. For this world took everything from us, so shall we help him take the world.”

“Yeah, well, too bad you won't be around to cash in on that.” Dean slammed the stake into his chest again and again, not stopping until blood squirted in small arcs from the gaping wounds. His arm ached from the force he used to break through the sternum so he could stab the son of a bitch right in the heart, but he didn't care. When he stood, his face and clothing streaked crimson, he looked out at the nine people kneeling in a semi-circle around the altar, hoping to find shock, terror, _something_ on their faces, but finding nothing more than the same hopeful, serene expressions they had been holding before.

He drug his gaze down at the child on the altar, dagger protruding obscenely out of its stomach. He turned, then, and threw up right beside the dead man's head. When he was done, he took a towel laying folded at the side of the altar, meaning to cover up what lay before him—something he'd never be able to get out of his mind—but, just then a soft, orange glow began to emanate from the wound. It drew him in, and for a moment, he was unable to take his eyes from it. Right where the blade met flesh, the most beautiful light was building in intensity. It should have hurt his eyes, but it didn't.

“Dean! DEAN!” Shouts brought him out of his trance. The nine people surrounding the altar were now standing, just as enthralled as Dean had been previously. Alessa and Bobby stood beside him, staring at the dead child, not the light. Their faces held no trace of the awe the followers' faces showed.

“What should we--” Alessa was cut off by a brilliant light shooting out of the altar and the earth rumbling beneath them. It was then that Dean noticed the other eight babies still lying on their pillows behind the followers, forgotten.

“Get them out of here!” he shouted at the other two, pointing at the infants. Bobby hung his gun over his shoulder and hefted up three of them as carefully as he could before sprinting toward the door. Dean did the same, and trusted Alessa to grab the last two just as debris began falling from the ceiling. They made it back to the spot where they had come up with their somewhat-of-a-plan when the rumbling stopped. An eerie silence took over the forest. They all stood around and looked at each other, and even the children in their arms were quiet.

Then, what sounded like an explosion erupted from the direction of the barn, shaking the ground so hard that it rattled Dean's teeth. He shared a look with Alessa before lying the babies down gently on the soft grass and pine needles at Bobby's feet. She did the same, drew her guns and was gone in a flash, heading back down the trail.

“Watch them,” he told Bobby, needlessly, before sprinting after her as quickly as he could. He almost ran right into her back when he busted through the door of the barn. When he looked past her, he understood why she was just standing and staring.

In the middle of the barn stood a man easily nine feet tall with his back to them. A black cape with bright gold trim hung from his shoulders, and an ancient metal helmet sat on his head with three large, sculpted spikes protruding upward. People and debris littered the ground around him. The nine followers who hadn't been fighting were lying in a heap by the destroyed altar, already decaying. Dean didn't even want to think about what might have become of the deceased child's body.

Alessa drew in a breath when the tall man started to turn around, but she didn't move backward. If this giant of a man couldn't back Alessa down, then what _could_?

Then Dean knew. This was what came out of the light in the child's stomach. This was Supai. When he was turned fully to face them, Supai grinned, his expression morphing into the very epitome of malice, sharp teeth bared and glinting in the light. His face looked to be that of a middle-aged man's, weathered and lined from hard work and bitterness. Eyes of swirling blackness assessed them. They weren't the flat black of demon eyes, but something different. It seemed that there was always movement behind them, like the ocean's waves on dark nights. A gleaming gold chest plate was strapped to his muscular frame and held his cape in place at his shoulders. Gleaming gold and silver braids wrapped around his legs, tying his foot coverings to the soles of his feet. As they took in his appearance, he simply stood there, smirking at them.

“You are not worshippers of mine,” he said squinting a bit. “Have you then come to strike me down?” His voice rumbled throughout what was left of the barn. Quite a bit of it had fallen in, and the rest would probably follow soon. Supai spoke with an accent long lost to the world, but it was in English. At least they would know what he was saying before he killed the shit out of them.

“Why did you kill your followers?” Dean asked, voice steady. Supai settled his gaze solely on him and chuckled.

“They did not offer tributes after I was manifested. Inadequate human vermin,” he spat on the ground. “I no longer need humans to provide me tribute. I can take everything I want with this body. The one you killed was loyal to the end. He made sure I would have a permanent form worthy of my greatness.”

“Well, you were right about one thing,” Dean told him, proud of his unwavering courage since he was about two seconds from letting his flight response take over. _“Head to the right when I get him to turn. You're gonna have to stab him in the back. No way you can get through that chest armor,”_ Dean thought at Alessa, hoping the message got to her.

 _“You better have one hell of a distraction planned,”_ she sent back.

 _“I'm gonna try to cut his head off.”_ Hopefully that would work as a distraction. If not, well, he wouldn't much care what happened then anyway.

“And what would that be, tiny mouse?” he asked, mockingly.

“I've come to strike you down.” Dean smiled brightly at him and drew Alessa's sword out of her belt, running to the left and forcing him to turn his back on Alessa, making sure to quietly drop the stake on the ground behind him. He leapt up and banked off a support beam under the loft with his left foot, catching Supai in the face with the edge of the sword. No great wound, but it caught him off-guard.

“You will need to do much better than that to defeat me, tiny mouse,” he said, sneering. Dean landed on his feet and moved back in, trying to keep him turned away from Alessa. She stayed low and carefully stepped over bodies and pieces of the roof, trying not to trip or make much noise. Supai was bent slightly forward in a defensive stance, swinging punches at Dean, who was dodging them, but not by much. Alessa was moving in quickly now, but with Supai volleying punches at Dean, it was going to be hard to get close enough to stab him. Not to mention how much taller he was than her. Supai was starting to land some blows, though, and Dean had to trust that Alessa could handle her part of the plan without him watching her positions.

A couple of hits to the face later, Dean caught sight of Alessa leaping off of a stack of hay bales, stake aimed straight for Supai's back. Once she got the point into his back through the cape and gripped tight to his torso, she thrust downward at his heart, but was unable to get it there. He bucked her off his back like an angry bull, and she went flying through a support beam before coming to rest a few feet away, out cold.

Supai turned back to Dean, nostrils flaring as he bared his teeth in anger. “Guess we're a little more of a pain in the ass than ya thought, jolly green,” Dean sneered. The god didn't even reach behind him to pull out the stake. He left it there like it was nothing more than a splinter.

“An annoyance soon to be rectified,” Supai hissed, pulling an impressively long sword from his hip. A sword that was suddenly _on fire_. A flaming sword sized for a giant god. Of death.

_Holy fuck!_

He brought the fiery blade down catching Dean's arm with the very tip of it. Dean could feel the skin being cauterized as it was sliced open and jerked away, dropping Alessa's sword and falling backward toward the remains of the altar. His left hand landed on something sharp, and he looked down to see the dagger the feeble old man had used slicing into his palm. He turned and brought the knife up in his right hand just in time to meet another downswing of Supai's giant sword.

Knowing he couldn't possibly win in a battle of strength, Dean rolled to the side, throwing off the god's balance and causing him to pitch forward for a second before getting one of his giant feet under him for support. However, that was all the time Dean needed to act. He threw the dagger straight at Supai's face, forcing him to lean back to dodge it before he'd finished regaining his footing. While he was leaning back, Dean slid into his legs from behind, using his whole body to take his feet out from under him and pitch him backward...driving the stake further into his back.

This time, it seemed, the tip made it into his heart. His face morphed into a look of utter surprise for a few seconds before he started yelling, a long, pained howl that rattled Dean's beaten bones all the way to the core. Copper light began to shine out of his eyes and mouth, and this time, it was too bright to keep watching. Dean scuttled back into a corner and covered his head with his arms, hoping he wouldn't succeed in defeating this thing only to die in a cave-in. Everything shook around him and falling debris rained down on him relentlessly.

Then, an ear-splitting explosion rocked the remaining structure, and the light abruptly blinked out. A few more pieces of wood and shingles fell like the last raindrops of a summer shower, and then everything was deafeningly silent. He shoved the wooden planks and various other things off his shoulders and looked around. The barn was almost completely decimated. The corner where he had taken refuge was the only part of it stubborn enough to still be standing upright, part of the loft clinging to it desperately. The rest of the frame had either fallen down completely or was dangerously close.

The spot where Supai had fallen sported only a charred body-shaped stain; there was no body or body parts to suggest he had ever been there. A staggering amount of dead human bodies were scattered among the rubble, though. The ones not killed by Alessa and Bobby had been drained by Supai after his appearance until there was nothing left but husks and skeletons reminiscent of badly preserved mummies. He didn't even want to think about the infanticide. He glared in the direction of the old man's body. That guy was going on his 'People I Want To Kill More Than Once' list.

Dean assessed the damage done to his body. His hand was oozing blood, but a couple stitches would fix it. His arm would need a significantly higher number of stitches, but it wasn't bleeding. The flames had taken care of that. The diagonal slash was ragged and ugly, slicing through Cas' handprint in a morbid recreation of the laceration on his palm. The rest of his pains were all from being hit with falling debris and the fists of a god, but were mostly mild irritations. Nothing seemed broken. He hefted himself to his feet and carefully made his way to where Alessa fell, trying not to step on bodies or rusty nails or unpleasant bodily fluids. At least Supai was polite enough to burn himself away.

He spotted part of a dark head of hair half-buried beneath the rubble and moved toward it, dread filling his stomach. Before he could reach her, though, she moaned and sat up. He could tell two things straight away: her face was scratched up and she was bloody. Not exactly 'Carrie at the prom' bloody, but everything from right under her chin to the part of her torso he could see was slick and red.

“Shit,” he swore as he rushed over to her, grimacing as he stepped on something that was both squelchy and crunchy. He tossed some of the larger boards out of his way and knelt beside her. “Ya with me, girl?” He spied the reason for all the blood. She had a large gash running from one side of her neck to just above the hollow of her throat. It was still oozing, but whatever had cut her had managed to miss any major arteries. He took off his over shirt and pressed it to the wound anyway.

“Yeah, yeah. I'm here,” she rasped, coughing a little and wincing. She rubbed the back of her head and came away with more blood. “What happened?”

“You got knocked out, and _I_ had to save _your_ ass,” he smiled, checking her over for more injuries. He didn't want to think about how utterly terrified he was when he thought she might be dead. Maybe it was a product of their link. Or perhaps he was starting to care for her. She might be a mystery wrapped in lies and served up with elusive utensils, but she was growing on him. He already respected her, and that said a lot in itself.

“I remember stabbing him, asshole. I meant, how'd you kill him?” Dean tied the shirt lightly around her neck and began digging her legs out, hoping she could sit up on her own. She still hadn't really opened her eyes very much.

“Well, after I dodged his _flaming sword_ a few times, I knocked 'im backward on the stake. He kinda exploded after that.” Her legs seemed more or less intact.

“Nice,” she said, only slightly sounding like her throat had just been cut. “Never fought a flaming sword before.”

“I don't recommend it,” he said dryly. “Can you stand?” She opened her eyes a bit and looked around at the ruins of the barn. Eventually, her gaze came to rest on Dean.

“Adi had better be in one piece, or I'll use the pieces to remove your balls.” Her voice was steadier and had that unnerving calm sound to it. He shivered a little. He guessed that was the name of her sword.

“It's over there,” he said, gesturing toward where he'd dropped it. He added the “somewhere” to the end of that statement silently.

“Go find it so we can get out of here,” she ordered, looking and sounding more herself. Dean watched her as she stood up, not touching her as she wavered on her feet, but staying close. She obviously didn't want to be coddled, but he wasn't about to let her fall and hit her head or be impaled on a broken board. Finally, she stopped swaying and opened her eyes more fully. “Go get my damn sword.” Dean figured she heard the things he called her in his mind, but he didn't care. She grinned a little, and he felt better about her wounds.

They made their way back to Bobby a little sluggishly but without Alessa passing out or falling. At one point, she had stopped and scrunched her eyebrows. She pulled a nail out of the back of her arm without flinching and dropped it, not saying a word, and then just soldiered on. A large roofing nail. Dean hoped she'd had a tetanus shot in the last few years.

Bobby didn't say anything when they came trudging up the trail. He just raised his eyebrows at Dean, and Dean nodded. _'Are you okay? Did you win?' 'Yeah, we got him. I'm as okay as I ever am after getting my ass kicked.'_

“Most of the barn is gone. Supai's pretty much disposed of, but there's a ton of bodies left down there,” Dean told him.

“I'll call Sheriff Mills. G'on to the car.” Dean was too tired to mention how Bobby looked both strange and familiar rocking a baby back and forth. He had held Sam like that on more than one occasion, but that was a very long time ago. So he just nodded again and followed Alessa to the car.

By the time Sheriff Mills passed them heading toward the barn and Bobby had made his way back to the car, they were both stitched up and passing Dean's flask between them. Again, Bobby just grumbled and took the car keys from Dean.

Any good feelings about beating Supai were quickly being overridden by thoughts of the four dead babies whose tiny, bloodless bodies had been missing at the end. Alessa was thinking that it was a failure from the get-go because they hadn't gotten there sooner. Her mentally berating herself helped Dean sink lower into the self-loathing he was already feeling. They had saved the day and still lost. Four families would pay the price for their mistake.

Then again, what else was new? The only difference was that the other person beaten and bloody in the car was Alessa instead of Sam. With their thoughts mashing together, he knew what she was thinking just as he would with his brother.

It always came back to Sam. And death. His whole life had been about those two subjects. It seemed possible with this new whatever-it-was with Alessa that he might be able to save more people. To not feel like such a failure. He should've known better. Whatever freaky-ass thing he had going on with Alessa was probably just what it seemed like—truckloads of freaky-ass, not good bullshit.

Thinking about all of it was getting him nowhere but wishing for a bottle of whiskey instead of just a flask of it. Dean sighed, laying his head back against the seat, and let the rumble of his baby lull him into a fitful sleep. An hour of rest would be good for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed! I'm sorry it took me so long to get this chapter out...life has been kind of overwhelming lately. I have chapter seven finished, though, and chapter eight started, so hopefully this long of a wait won't happen again. This is all unbeta'd, so mistakes are my own. If you see any/want to ask questions/want to say hi, leave me a comment or visit my tumblr--muffxranger.tumblr.com.


	8. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Alessa learn more about their super special mind bond, a demon spills its guts, and Dean hits on an angel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, trigger warning for the torture of a demon. Nothing that wouldn't be in the show, but still. I aim to ~~misbehave~~ please.

Dean was dreaming. Whose dream it was, however, he wasn't sure. A little girl was dancing across the room in front of him in a purple and green ballet outfit. She couldn't have been more than six, with large, almond-shaped brown eyes and dark hair pulled back in an impeccable bun.

He looked around the room he was in, but nothing was familiar. It was just a dance studio. The lights were half-off, casting the room in a strange series of shadows. A black baby grand piano was sitting in one corner, mostly concealed by darkness. Dean and the little girl seemed to be the only two in the room, and music was flowing out of the speakers, something soft and lilting on piano. The little girl's dance matched the lazy, care-free attitude of the song. Despite her age, her movements were graceful and flowing. She was really good.

So sue him, he could appreciate art if he wanted to. The dance ended in a flourish of piano keys, and he found himself clapping for her after she had finished her end pose.

She looked up, startled at first to hear someone else in the room with her, but soon her face broke out in a large, missing-toothed grin, and she ran toward Dean squealing.

“Mommy! Did you see? Did you see my dance?” Dean turned and saw a woman behind him, laughing and smiling the same large smile as the little girl, only with all of her teeth intact. He sidestepped the little girl and she ran right past him and into the arms of the woman, who'd bent down to wrap her arms around the child. Dean wasn't even sure the two could see him.

“I did, baby. I did! Fantastica che e stato!” The woman kept speaking in Italian, and the little girl answered in an excited English-Italian mishmash. He watched the girl's mother interact with her, noticing her olive skin and long, wavy, dark hair. Her dark eyes matched the little girl's, alive and bright with a smile. When she grinned at something the girl said, there were laugh lines around her mouth and crinkles at the corners of her eyes, like she spent a large amount of time smiling. Then, the woman, whose hands are on the little girl's cheeks, looked straight into her face, and beamingly told her, “Nei tuoi occhi c'è il cielo.”

Holy shit. This was Alessa and her mother. This was Alessa's dream. As soon as realization dawned on him that he was in her dream, the room shifted and changed. The lights all dropped out and the floor disappeared, and then Dean was falling.

Just as he was about to hit bottom, whatever that may have been, he jerked awake, sitting straight up and gasping deeply. The room slowly came into focus, and he rubbed his face with a sigh. He was in the single bed against the far wall of Bobby's spare room. Alessa was in the bed closest to the door, and after a few seconds of concentration, he could tell she was awake as well. Her mind was a flurry of sadness and anger, but when he looked over at her, she was still just lying on her side with her back to him.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and squinted in the moonlight at his watch. It was just after one. The trio had come back to the house and commenced drinking themselves stupid in an attempt to drown out the images of dead babies. Bobby had retired to his room just as the sun was going down, and Alessa and Dean had taken the remainder of the gin to the spare bedroom and passed it between themselves until they had no choice but to sleep.

The hangover was going to be legendary. Dean was trying to decide between going back to sleep and just getting up still half-drunk. Either would still produce a hangover, but if he stayed up, maybe he could nurse a couple beers to deaden it. He absently rubbed at the stitches in his arm. The gash was starting to itch and looked to be a couple weeks old instead of only a few hours. He could get used to _this_ part of the weird Alessa link.

“She was beautiful.” Alessa's voice was raspy, but it held a note of whimsy. She was at least still as drunk as Dean was to say something like that with such an inflection. He smiled and wondered how much of the little girl in the dream had managed to stay behind in the cold, violent person he'd met only days ago.

“Yeah. She was.”

“That was right before my first dance recital. I was five.”

“You were good.”

“I practiced as much as I could so I didn't embarrass my family. I knew they were important people, I just didn't know why yet.”

“Your mom was proud.” Alessa hummed in thought.

“Before...,” she dropped off, like she didn't know what to call the 'before' event, but Dean got a flash of the old cabin's room from the vision of hers he'd shared, complete with pain in his palms and feet, and he knew what she meant. It dawned on him where she had gotten the scars on her hands he'd noticed the night they met and knew there were matching ones on her feet. “I planned to go to Julliard. I wanted to be a dancer. I would've been good enough.”

He could hear everything she didn't say. She didn't have to think it at him. It wasn't even the lost opportunities that ate away at her. It made her sad to remember her life from before, but she didn't regret leaving it behind. She had allowed herself to change into something she didn't recognize, something dark and vengeful, and if she was being honest with herself, it scared her. She felt guilty. At the end of the day, she was just a lost girl trying impossibly to atone for terrible acts. _And_ she missed her mother.

Dean felt exactly like that. Sam was the only other person on the entire planet with whom he shared an understanding so deeply, but he had known Sam all of his life. How did he simply _know_ Alessa like this?

Suddenly, half-drunk didn't seem drunk enough anymore.

Alessa snorted and turned over to look at him. “ _That_ is the understatement of the year.” She sat up on the side of her bed in a mirror image of him and raked a hand through her tangled hair. “Y'know, I was glad when I met you.” Dean reached out and tried to read what she was going to say next, but suddenly she was keeping him out. He needed to learn that trick.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I didn't think I'd ever meet someone as fucked up as me, but you're that someone. The 'lost boy' to my 'lost girl.'” Dean knew she had used his very own words, which he hadn't actually said out loud, thank you very much, on purpose.

Ignoring that she had basically just said they were some kind of angry, volatile kindred spirits, he said, “Can you always hear what I think?”

“Yeah. Our _whatever-it-is_ is getting stronger. I can pretty much hear you all the time.” She smiled in the darkness, and her teeth reflected the light coming in from the window and shone like a panther's waiting on the perfect time to pounce on an antelope.

“How come I can't hear you all the time?”

“I've been practicing blocking you out. I guess when I do it, it keeps you from hearing me too. Haven't mastered it sleeping yet. Probably why you ended up in my dream.”

“Show me how to do it.”

“It took me the whole car ride back to get. Might take you longer. I wasn't drunk when I figured it out.”

“Just tell me what to do, princess.” Alessa rolled her eyes, but came over to Dean's bed anyway. Despite all the alcohol and the fact that she was bone-weary, she still moved with the grace of a dancer. No, not a dancer. She was a fighter now. Dangerous. She sat cross-legged at the foot of his bed, and Dean turned to face her. She'd thrown her shirt somewhere before she had passed out and was still only in her threadbare black bra. He tried really hard not to think about how her cleavage was staring him in the face.

“Try harder, Dean.” He couldn't help it. He smirked. Alessa just quirked up an eyebrow at him. “Close your eyes. Try to think of a barrier or a wall or something that makes you feel safe. Just focus on it when you find it.” Dean tried to think of something that wasn't a weapon that made him feel safe. He came up with zilch. No structure made him feel safe. Even with all the charms and traps and salt lines in the world, there would still be something that could get through.

“Okay, okay, stop flicking through things so fast, I'm getting a headache,” she said, putting her hand on his forearm.

“Well, stop eavesdropping in my brain.”

“Stop thinking so loudly.” He opened his green eyes to her dark ones and tried to stare her down. Finally she exhaled and squeezed her eyes shut again. “Try to hear my thoughts right now. Feel me. Concentrate.” She put her other hand on his arms, and he tried not to laugh at how they looked like a couple pre-teens trying to conduct a sleepover séance. She huffed out a short laugh and gripped his arms a little tighter.

“Yeah, next we'll play Bloody Mary.” Dean didn't correct her that she shouldn't play that game. Even if he and Sam did kill Mary's ghost, nothing saved lives like paranoid precaution. “Just concentrate,” she repeated. He did. Dean felt her heart beating, heard the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed, and tasted the bitter aftertaste of the gin on her tongue. As he moved upward toward her mind, something slammed down around it before he could read her. Then, clear as day, he saw a large fire door in his way. It simply read, 'Employees Only,' and it was locked.

“What was that?” he asked, confused. The small vital signs he'd grown accustomed to noticing whenever they were close enough were all silent.

“That was the door to the kitchen of the diner where Marcus and I worked.”

“Where mob deals went down?”

“Something like that, but probably not what you're thinking.” She paused for a second and looked at him. “Definitely not what you're thinking. It was rarely like the Godfather.”

Dean grinned at her. “So, a _kitchen_ made you feel safe?”

“Not really _safe _, but Marcus and I spent a lot of time there. Talking, doing dishes, drinking. It was our little hideout after closing. We had a lot of good times.” Glimpses of the diner danced in his mind, seeing Alessa and Marcus flinging water, getting high and fucking, spraying whipped cream at each other. A happy place. Dean had one of those.__

__“Okay, I get it. Give me a second and then try to read me.” He thought about the smell of old leather, the rumble of a V8 327 4-barrel, and the feel of the Impala's steering wheel in his hands. This time he felt Alessa reaching out toward him and he imagined himself inside the car, driving cross-country to nowhere with Sam beside him. Alessa's laugh brought his concentration down, and he opened up his eyes._ _

__“I bet myself that you'd pick your car. I won,” teased lightly. Her smiled lessened until only the very corners of her mouth were upturned. Dean felt her hands slide up his arms and rest on his shoulders. The callouses and scars on her palms sparked across his skin as she moved, and he suddenly felt too hot. He let himself be pushed backward on the bed as Alessa climbed on top and ran her tongue across his bottom lip, a challenging stare in her eyes. His rough hands roamed along her bare sides and down her jean-clad legs as she kissed him like all the answers were waiting on his lips. It was desperate and messy, but Dean didn't care, and judging from the way Alessa was already sliding his pants down his hips, she didn't care much either._ _

__They both needed this. To forget dead kids and the apocalypse and long-foreseen destinies and slim chances of survival. She started sucking on his earlobe, and he lost all track of his thoughts. He could feel her _feeling him_ , and it was such a mind fuck, pun definitely intended, that he couldn't and didn't want to come up for air. With the added sensations, it felt like he was being touched everywhere at once, and it was the best damn thing he'd felt in a long time. This was better than that time with the redheaded twins in Iowa._ _

__And then Alessa slid down his dick in one slow movement, and the only thought in his head was, “ _Yes, more,_ ” to which Alessa responded with a dirty little laugh and a roll of her hips. He sat up with her still straddling him and slung his legs over the side of the bed for better leverage. Maybe for just a little while, they could leave everything behind. If god and angels and heaven gave no solace, then why not find it in another's body? Yes, the world was ending, but not right then. At least not until the sun came up. Everything else could wait until then._ _

__When Dean woke early the next morning, he was alone, and the spot where Alessa had been snoozing was long left cold._ _

__***  
Alessa was sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee when Bobby came through with a stack of books. He dropped half of them down in front of her and kept half for himself._ _

__“What's this?” she asked, wincing. The alcohol had caught up with her, and it felt like gerbils were using her brain as a trampoline. Dean wasn't nearly as hungover since he started drinking again when he woke. He was outside giving the Impala a tune-up. If she concentrated, she could pick up faint whiffs of oil in the air as if she was standing right beside the car as he worked._ _

__Not that it wasn't neat or anything, but they needed to know what was going on. That angel could have at least called in with a progress report by now. Even if it was only, “No luck. Gonna keep trying.” At least then they would know he wasn't dead or plotting against them. Or just her, maybe. He seemed to like Dean too much to plot against him._ _

__“Those,” he gestured at the three books he gave her, “are mos likely t'have information on controlling your mind readin'. These,” he shook the books he was holding, “are lesser known apocryphal texts 'bout other possible world endin' events.” Alessa simply nodded and looked at the book on top of the stack. Like most of Bobby's books, this one was dusty and only had a symbol etched into the faded, crimson cover, no words. Bobby had sat down across from her at the table and was already making notes on a legal pad._ _

__She opened the first book, and her vision instantly swam. It seemed the gerbils were against reading words of any kind. When she could open her eyes again without losing the toast in her stomach, she noticed the words weren't in English._ _

__“This is Latin,” she said, dumbly, as she flipped through the pages._ _

__“Yeah, and?” Bobby responded, shortly._ _

__“Past a few exorcism rites, I don't speak Latin.” He smirked at her, and went to his desk. After a couple minutes of rooting around in one of the drawers, he slid another book across the table to her. This one was smaller and had a modern glossy cover, but it had seen its share of bad days just like the rest of Bobby's library._ _

__It was a Latin-to-English dictionary._ _

__“You wouldn't happen to have one of these mind reading books in English or Italian, would you? Spanish, maybe?” He just raised an eyebrow at her and shook his head. “Russian?” Now she was just being whiny._ _

__“Quit bellyachin' and read, girl.” So she did._ _

__She fake read for awhile until the few-too-many aspirin tablets had kicked in and lessened her urge to vomit all over Bobby's irreplaceable ancient texts, but when she really started her research, a few hours passed by easily without her stopping for a break. Dean had not only changed the oil in his car, but also replaced the brake shoes and pads, rotated the tires, and washed it. At one point, she came across a particularly interesting passage in the book and decided to try it out. For a split second, Alessa took control of Dean's actions, which caused him to mash a few of his fingers while removing the worn down brake pads. She sent a quick mental apology at him, but judging from his impressive string of swears, he didn't accept it._ _

__If the link between them was similar to the various mystical ones found in Bobby's books, with some practice, their limitations would be very small. Sending images, speaking to each other mentally while in different hemispheres, borrowing energy from one another...the opportunities were seemingly endless. The book also spoke of blocking techniques and how to hide from those who could pick up on her energies in order to find her. If Dean ever went evil, she'd know how to hide from him._ _

__She'd kept her mind open to him throughout her studies, and she could feel him chuckle at that._ _

__Alessa stood up and stretched, feeling her joints pop and crack into more comfortable positions. She felt much better, almost no sign of the hangover that had plagued her so terribly that morning. That was something she could get used to as well. If they had just been given these abilities in order to fight everyday nasties, she might not be too upset about it._ _

__As it was, while it had its perks, it definitely wasn't worth shouldering the apocalypse. _“Amen, sister.”__ _

__When Dean talked to her like this, she could feel a light caress deep in her mind, like someone fondly touching a lover._ _

__It was fucking weird, but at least it wasn't unpleasant._ _

__“Oh, Bobby! I miss you, sweetheart,” a singsongy voice broke through her thoughts. She looked at Bobby._ _

__“What was that?” she asked, looking at the floor. The person the voice belonged to must have been in the basement._ _

__“Gotta demon down there stewing for awhile 'til she feels like talkin',” he says, not even looking up from his book._ _

__“How many cases do you help out with at a time, Bobby?” That made him look up at her, mouth quirking up in a half-smile._ _

__“Too many.” Alessa sat her water glass down in the sink and turned back to Bobby._ _

__“Want help?” His smile vanished into his facial hair, and he narrowed his eyes. For a second, Alessa didn't think he was going to answer her and instead play the most intense game of Don't Blink First in history, but then, almost imperceptibly, he nodded his assent. Alessa was getting antsy, and a demonic distraction that was already caught and tied up seemed like the perfect cure._ _

__“What do you need to know?”_ _

__***  
The demon was squatting inside a kindergarten teacher from Walhalla, South Carolina named Marcy Wells. She was wearing a bright, multicolored bohemian skirt and a loose, linen shirt with some paint stains. Probably finger paints. The outfit was slightly dirty on one side, but otherwise, it would seem as though Mrs. Wells had been helping her students paint flowers and houses earlier that day. Alessa could see the demon's face floating just under the skin of Marcy's face, creating a fucked-up game of peek-a-boo. If she concentrated on Marcy's mind hard enough, she could faintly see her consciousness, huddled in the corner of her own mind. It looked like a balled-up length of incandescent string convulsing near her right temple._ _

__Weird._ _

__In the thirty minutes since Alessa had straddled a chair backward and faced the demon, it had told her how it planned to rip her apart slowly from her toes to her scalp. How she would know what it was like to chew on her own eyeballs. It hissed that it was going to find the little girl she'd rescued from a loup garou last month and throw the kid into the pit to the men's souls who kidnapped and abused Alessa when she was fifteen. All the while, Alessa watched her and picked at her fingernails with the demon-killing knife Bobby had given her._ _

__Seriously, a demon-killing knife? These people were definitely the ones she wanted in her corner. They had the best toys._ _

__“Miss Marcy Wells' body would be gutted before you could step out of that devil's trap, so your threats are meaningless. Let's move on.” Alessa was entering the headspace that allowed her to do terrible things without thinking. Her instinct was what kept her alive for this long, and she was good at using it, even if it meant leaving her morals at the door and picking up some more guilt later._ _

__“I'm going to...” the demon started to threaten. Alessa could hear how sweet the teacher would have sounded if she didn't have something evil inside of her. As it was, she was just a monster in cute packaging._ _

__“No, you're not,” Alessa said quietly, cutting it off. “You're going to tell me where your spell's going to take place and how close you are to gathering your ingredients.”_ _

__“Why would I tell you anything? You're just gonna kill me after.”_ _

__“True, but you might be all in one piece when you die.” Alessa stood and circled around the edges of the trap, making sure the demon's bonds were still tight._ _

__“Nothing you do could be worse than what I've endured in hell for centuries.” The demon's voice was steady, but Marcy Wells' consciousness was quaking like a lost pre-schooler in a carnival funhouse._ _

__“Oh, you don't know me very well,” Alessa grinned and knelt in front of the demon to lift Marcy's skirt. It let out a laugh that could have curdled milk._ _

__“Sure I do, Alessa Leonetti, former heir to the head of the Leonetti Crime Family,” it said, voice dripping with saccharine sweetness. “You've lost everyone you ever cared about. If they aren't dead, they think you are. Must be lonely. Oh!” it laughed like it'd just remembered the funniest joke, “Plus, you're one of the ones set to go up against Lucifer and Michael. If I were you, I'd prefer to die now.” Alessa was still knelt in front of it and raised an eyebrow at it. Marcy's face smiled and exuded all the sweetness Alessa knew the teacher was capable of showing when in control of her own expressions. “I can help you out with that if you untie me, dear,” it taunted in Marcy's soft, southern twang._ _

__Alessa slid the knife down one of Marcy's legs and up the other one, just pressing the tip into her flesh enough to make it sting. A nice, cat-scratch effect. So, it knew about the big fight._ _

__“You know a lot, don't you?” Alessa sliced into the demon's thigh. The laceration hissed and glowed bright orange for a few seconds, oozing blood that didn't disappear when the wound closed. The demon's face hovering around Marcy's threw its head back and howled. Interesting._ _

__“So, tell me. What else do you know?” Alessa asked quietly, sliding the knife down the other thigh, ignoring the screams and intently watching how the wound lasted much longer with this knife._ _

__“Fuck you, bitch. I'm not talking. I'll go back to hell before I give anything up.” Alessa was still cutting neat lines in the demon's thighs. It was panting and sweating already._ _

__“That's the thing, though,” Alessa said conversationally, tapping Marcy's kneecap with the tip of the blade. “This knife can kill you. Dead. No more to wander Earth / _or_ Hell. Watch.” She jerked the skirt out of the way so it could watch her cut a deep line into the top of Marcy's thigh, hip to knee. “See that? No other knife I've ever seen can do that.” She nonchalantly drew a vertical line down the teacher's sternum, catching the tip on the ridges of bone as she went. Without looking at the demon's face she added, “So, basically, it's talk or die bloody.”_ _

__“I won't talk,” it forced out in a raspy, panting growl._ _

__“Well, sooner or later, you'll do one or the other. For Marcy's sake, I hope it's sooner, but if we don't stop that ritual, then I'll have nothing better to do than stay down here with you.” Alessa cut the flesh stretched tight over Marcy's kneecaps to accentuate the 'you.' “If you know me, then you know the things I've done. The people I've...gleefully _julienned_.” Alessa smiled at her. “The only time I ever went without my intel was when I got too anxious and cut a little too deeply before my guy could talk.” She leaned in and slid the knife lightly down Marcy's cheek and spoke not into Marcy's ear, but the demon's mutilated ear hole, which sat just above Marcy's. “If you know me, then you know I'm not quite on my rocker. I'd say oblivion is better than caught in a room with me, _dear_ ,” Alessa mimicked._ _

__The demon drug in a ragged breath as Alessa kept cutting and slicing. The knife really was a nifty little tool. “If you think I'm half as afraid of you as I am of the angels, you are sorely mistaken. I know how it ends for you, and it's not gonna be pretty.” Alessa spared a look at the demon, really more of an upward flick of her eyes as she sat at its feet and made tiny spirals with the knife point._ _

__“Oh yeah?” The demon let out another unearthly cry, and Alessa smiled a little. It was when they started talking that they spilled all their secrets._ _

__“You're gonna, ah fuck...you're gonna die in a river of the blood of all the people you can't save. Ohh!” Alessa made it to the bridge of Marcy's foot. “Those angels will obliterate you and play with your soul until the end of fucking time. You _and_ that Winchester boytoy of yours. You're both gonna fry. Forever!” it screamed in agony. Hm. Things to file away for later. More pressing matters at hand._ _

__“Tell me about the ritual.”_ _

__“No.” Alessa thought back to her morning readings. It was time to put her newfound powers to the test. _“Get ready, Dean-o. I wanna test something out.”__ _

__Alessa wiped the knife off and slid it into her belt. She brought her fingertips to Marcy's temples and concentrated. With her eyes closed, she visualized waves flowing from her mind down into her hands and meeting Marcy's consciousness. The tiny glowing ball Marcy had been reduced to cowered away from Alessa's mental touch, but a little bit more of a shove let her past the demon's sulfur-filled presence and into Marcy's mind. Alessa saw all the carnage the demon had done while in Marcy's body, but she focused on memories that showed what the demons were planning. When she finished pilfering through Marcy's head, she let go and fell backward into her chair. She felt weak but it was just her, Dean still had all his energy. Despite her warning to him, she had successfully shielded what she was doing from him. If she had tried to show him what she was doing, it would have been too easy to reach out and take his energy to feed her own. Baby steps. The dizziness abated quickly, and when she looked up, the demon was studying her quizzically._ _

__“So, that's why they chose you to fight...” the demon said, still staring at her, head slightly cocked to one side. That piqued Alessa's interest._ _

__“What do you mean by that?”_ _

__“Oh no, this is too good.” The demon was back to smiling and taunting, looking only slightly less worse for wear. Alessa was going to find out what this thing knew about her if she had to cut poor Marcy Wells into bits. “Ask _Mommy_ what's going on.” Before Alessa could make a move to carve the answers out of it, Dean appeared and cut through the binding link the demon had seared into Marcy's arm. Bobby was chanting an exorcism behind her, and she knew that in her haste to find out the truth, she'd let her shield down. Dean knew exactly what she was thinking. Thick, black smoke poured out of Marcy's mouth and disappeared into the floor._ _

__Alessa didn't have to read Dean's mind to know what he was thinking when they locked gazes. In his eyes, carving Marcy up before she killed her would have been going too far, but he wanted to know what was going on with them just as much as Alessa did. Part of Dean wanted to join her, but he kept that part tightly bound within himself._ _

__At times like this, Alessa didn't see the point anymore. The world was always going to hell in one way or another no matter who drove the bus. This time, it was literally._ _

__To her credit, however, Marcy was still alive. Bleeding and probably in need of decades of therapy, but alive. Major blood vessels were missed on purpose. If your captive's head gets too fuzzy, they leave out important details when they finally do talk. Or they silently bleed out all over your newest Manolo Blahniks. She hadn't been lying to the demon about the guy who never got to spill his secrets to Alessa._ _

__Bobby was untying Marcy and lying her out on the floor, talking softly and checking her over. Dean was openly staring at Alessa, face tense. Neither of them were shielding, so Dean knew that Alessa was thinking about that one guy she didn't crack. Not about how upset she was that she killed him or how upset she was that she had just tortured a kindergarten teacher, but that she didn't get her intel once. He was thinking about whether or not he could take her down if she went too far._ _

__Her lips tilted up at one corner. This was who she was, and no, he couldn't take her down. Not without a hell of a lot of help._ _

__“Bobby, you need to let your guys know what I got from the demon. This is happening tonight.” He gave Alessa the same look Dean had given her seconds before, but then moved to follow her up the stairs._ _

__“Dean, take Ms. Wells t'the hospital,” Bobby grumbled._ _

__Alessa took a few breaths and tried to ease her adrenaline-filled limbs. Every time she let go and went into that blankness, it got harder and harder to find her way back. Eventually, she'd feel what she just did to an innocent woman, but at this moment in time, she was just vaguely irritated about losing a chance to find out more about what was happening to her._ _

__She gave a complete report to Bobby and went upstairs to her room. Dean's last thought ran through her mind. _'Maybe I'm not going to be the one to go rogue. It's probably gonna be you.'__ _

__And if she was being completely honest with herself, he was right. No matter how much she changed, a piece of her humanity would always be missing. She'd always be broken._ _

__At this point, Alessa didn't even know if she'd miss that spark of compassion. The blankness, the urge to meet an objective at all costs...well, that was just so much easier to live with, and it had very few restrictions. She didn't let that little thought find it's way to Dean's noggin, though. She kept it behind closed doors. Literally._ _

__***_ _

__As the hours ticked by, Alessa cleaned her weapons. When the gun oil ran out, she dismantled and reassembled all her guns over and over until she shaved five seconds off her initial time. While Alessa was busy trying to ignore the nagging feeling in her chest telling her to feel bad for what she'd done to Marcy, Dean had come back from dropping off Marcy at the hospital, Bobby had called the other hunters to let them know what has happening with the ritual they were trying to stop, and Dean and Bobby had argued about something Alessa wasn't privy to knowing. Dean's shield slammed down on her fast enough she could have sworn the Impala tried to run her over._ _

__When the sun went down, and the room grew dim, Alessa was almost able to throw the judging stares from Dean and Bobby out of her mind. After a bit of searching, she found a flask of bourbon in Bobby's dresser and laid down on her bed to partake._ _

__The arrangement wasn't working out. Alessa worked best alone now. There was no extra baggage, no one else to worry about, and no one to judge her for the sins she readily committed. She'd made up her mind. It was time to leave. Dean would call her when the angel came back with something. _If_ he ever came back with something. She could handle the fatigue and ignore the feelings that made her want to be close to her newfound, unwanted counterpart at all times._ _

__Alessa had been through worse and made it out alive. Chances were that they'd both be dead when the big ending came due anyway. The more she drank, the easier it was for her to let go. She didn't owe these people anything, and the faster she could put Sioux Falls in her rearview, the peachier she'd be._ _

__Just as she had stood up to start packing up her gear, however, Dean rushed into the room._ _

__“We need you downstairs. Cas is back and he brought your dream genie,” he said before going back down the steps. Alessa had been spitefully shielding Dean since he'd cut her out of his and Bobby's argument, so any attempts of his to call her had probably gone unnoticed._ _

__Sighing, she threw back the last of the bourbon, put the lid back on the flask and returned it to the drawer where she'd found it. Maybe she _wouldn't_ be leaving in the morning._ _

___Goddamnit._ _ _

__***_ _

__Eloa was once again in the vessel of a slight, pixie-faced brunette, dressed in a ratty black t-shirt and jeans with a green military style jacket to keep her angel wings warm. She looked largely like Alessa did most of the time. She was chatting with Bobby over a book that was probably written around the time when Jesus was still a pimply-faced pre-teen._ _

__“So, are we going to come together to form Voltron and kick some Satan ass, or what?” Alessa asked, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow at the angels. She was already irritated that she probably wouldn't be leaving as planned and wanted to get down to business._ _

__Also, she was probably a bit drunker than she should have been while dealing with the apocalypse. For the second time that day._ _

__“I don't under--,” Castiel started, but he was interrupted by Eloa._ _

__“Alessa. It's been awhile. I'm glad to see you are well,” she said in a high-pitched, but not unpleasant tone. It instantly put Alessa at ease, but the stubborn part of her (which was a very large part of her, thanks) fought against it fiercely._ _

__“Yeah, I'm fantastic,” Alessa deadpanned. The angel frowned, but didn't mention Alessa's affinity for fighting her mood augmentations. Or her affinity for sarcasm._ _

__“It's kind of like forming Voltron, but probably more impressive,” Eloa replied, answering the earlier question._ _

__“I doubt that,” Dean threw in, giving Eloa his best, panty-dropping grin. Alessa rolled her eyes at him and let her shield down. They might need the extra line of silent communication when the angels started explaining things. She also wanted him to know how pathetic she thought hitting on an angel was. His grin faltered, and Alessa had to try very hard to outwardly hide her amusement. She didn't succeed. The weariness mixed with the bourbon was making her truthful._ _

__“Let's just skip to the part where you tell us what's going on,” Alessa said, staring down both angels. Eloa smiled and came over to hug her. Eloa leaned back and left her hands on Alessa's shoulders._ _

__“No need to be rude, Alessa. We aren't in a terrible hurry just yet.”_ _

__“I'll start then,” Bobby said, not looking up from the book Eloa'd just handed him. “This's the apocryphal text of Asaph, but this 'un's fuller'n the one I have.”_ _

__“This is the only complete version in existence. We've been holding on to it for a very long time, Bobby,” Eloa interrupted._ _

__“Right.” Bobby was trying to maintain his surliness, but he was simply too fascinated to hold on to much of it. “Well, chapter seven, verse nineteen seems t'be what we're lookin' for, if I can figure it out.” He still hadn't looked up from the book, and was currently bringing his face even closer to it. Alessa wondered if he was too prideful to wear reading glasses or was simply too engrossed in the text to stop and find them._ _

__“Precisely,” Eloa said, giving him a glinting smile. “'And so it is written, upon the morn when the Light Bringer rises once again to wage war against Heaven upon Earth, he will be met with a triad of warriors. She who is the last to walk the three realms of humanity, yet belongs to none and the first-born son of a lesser saint will awaken and unite to feed the Savior of All.'”_ _

__“Well, m'glad _you_ know what it says, because this is the wors' mishmash of Hebrew and Aramaic ever writt'n down,” Bobby grumbled. He had little trouble finding his surliness once again._ _

__“Well, to be fair, Asaph was what you would now call a delusional paranoid schizophrenic,” Castiel said matter-of-factly._ _

__“So we're trusting the bilingual ramblings of a crazy person,” Alessa said. She was back to the 'run away now' plan. She was also laughing. Possibly giggling. Bobby must have hid the good stuff in that flask._ _

__“Awesome,” Dean added._ _

__“Asaph might have been a bit on the _eccentric_ side, but he wrote down what was given to him from Heaven. Very few of us knew about this particular text, and we've been guarding it for this exact time,” Eloa told them. “Alessa, you and Dean are the ones mentioned first in that verse, but--”_ _

__“Hold on a second,” Dean said, striding across the room to Eloa. “Me. I am the son of a lesser saint? Lady, I am the son of a hunter and a mother killed way too early in life. They were among the best, but they weren't saints.” Dean looked distressed and had started talking with hand gestures._ _

__“Yes, your mother is. She destroyed her soul to save you and your brother. The ultimate sacrifice. The Catholic Church may like to think that they control who are considered saints, but they don't.” She grinned a little at him. “Mary, Saint of Matronly Sacrifice. That's who she's become. When mothers cry out for guidance or healing or peace for their children, she is the one who eases their fears and sets them on the right path. You should be proud, Dean.” Eloa is positively beaming at Dean who seems to be unable to make any facial expression that is not blind shock._ _

__“And you, Alessa,” Eloa starts, turning away from Dean's frozen face and toward Alessa, “you are a very special being. The last of your kind.” Alessa decides that Eloa's smiling, beatific face is too much to handle, and she is either too drunk or not drunk enough to have a conversation of this caliber. After a minute of debating, 'not drunk enough' wins out because she can still see (pretty) straight. So, she just walks (stumbles) to the kitchen in search of something that will make her slur her words because if her muddled brain understood that passage correctly, her entire world was about to fall out of orbit. Again. Eloa follows her, still talking and not taking any clues that it is a good time to _shut her goddamn fucking perfect mouth until Alessa is at least sitting down.__ _

__“...and so, unfortunately, it falls to you to save your planet, although I and the others on my side will do anything we can to assist you.” Alessa was squatted in front of Bobby's sink clumsily rummaging around for something to deaden the frenetic lump of anxiety that was building in her chest. Part of that was Dean still digesting the fact that his mother, who he, like Alessa, missed and still loved very much, was a saint born out of sacrifice. A much larger part of that lump was the fact that Alessa was pretty sure she just found out that she wasn't human. If she'd been listening more closely to what Eloa had been saying, she figured she'd know what she was by now, but there was a loud whooshing noise in her ears and her mouth was full of cotton and by the time she wrapped her fingers around a bottle of something, she was pretty sure for the first time in her life, she was going to faint like one of those bourgeois blushing flowers from the nineteenth century._ _

__She slumped into the floor, crossing her legs in front of her and leaned her head against the cabinets. If she squeezed the bottle in her hands any tighter, Alessa was certain it would shatter into a million pieces. A hand settled on her back and a familiar rush of warm energy flowed through her body, sobering her and steadying her breaths. If Eloa had left her the ability, she would have been angry about wasting the numbing effects of the top-shelf liquor she'd spent the better part of the evening imbibing. After a few moments of blissful silence, she lifted her head and knocked back a mouthful of the worst rotgut scotch she'd ever tasted. But, it burned a nice path into her stomach and helped her brace herself._ _

__“Okay, Eloa, please repeat what you just said.” Her voice was quiet, but steady. She gave herself a few bonus points for not sounding like a terrified five-year-old. When she turned to meet Eloa's eyes, the angel was furrowing her brows and frowning, like she didn't understand why Alessa was acting in this manner._ _

__“I said, you are the last nephilim. The last angel-human hybrid in existence. Your birth was planned and protected by a small group of angels who understood what would happen should Asaph's complete prophecy be revealed to our superiors. You are one-third of Earth's saving grace.”_ _

__The last angel-human hybrid. Angel-human hybrid. Angel. Alessa was part angel. One of her parents was an angel. Angels existed and had children with humans and she was the product of that. _One of my parents...__ _

__Dean was a small, tentative touch in the back of her mind. _“You alright, darlin'?”_ No, she wasn't even in the same universe as alright. She was lost. And alone. And so very, very tired. She could feel that Dean, while still surprised, had quickly accepted the revelation that his mother was so amazing, she had been promoted to sainthood. He was moving on to pride and adoration._ _

__Bobby broke the silence._ _

__“So, who's the third? If Dean's the saint's son and Alessa's the walker of the three realms, who's the Savior of All?” Still shellshocked, Alessa allowed herself to do what she could. She stared into space, lifted the bottle to her mouth and drank. And listened, but mostly drank. Funny how a few days with Dean Winchester has turned _her_ into the alcoholic _he_ was rumored to be. _“Haha, princess.”_ She could feel his humorless smirk without even looking at him._ _

__“It's Sam. Your brother is the Savior of All,” Castiel replied softly._ _

__Dean's smirk disappeared._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations  
> Fantastica che è stato! - That was fantastic!
> 
> There's only two chapters (possibly three or two and an epilogue) left in Book One of Cosa Nostra! With any luck, there will eventually be an Alessa-centric interlude and a Book Two. The interlude is being outlined now and Book Two at least has a beginning and a planned ending. Thanks to anyone who is still around and reading this fic!


	9. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Information is given. It's kind of disastrous.

“You're shitting me.” Dean couldn't help but let go of his angry disbelief.

“No, I'm afraid not. _Sam_ released Lucifer, so _Sam_ must defeat him,” Eloa said quietly from behind Dean. He spun to look at her, his face unable to hold one expression for more than a second. His mind was running wild. Sam. His little brother. He made mistakes, big ones, sure, but this? Facing down the Devil because of some prophecy.

A prophecy that, if brought to the light before now, could have stopped all of this. Everything. Sam raising Lucifer in the first place. The fury and distrust that had broken them apart. Even the yellow-eyed demon derailing their entire lives and taking their parents.

“Why didn't you tell us this months ago? _Years_ ago?! This fight wouldn't have been necessary at all!” Dean found himself unable to hold back anything. His mouth kept forming words, and his vocal cords kept producing sounds, and everything he'd kept pent up for so long came tumbling out.

“You fucking angels with your _so_ important prophecies about _us_ , the hairless monkeys most of you find lower than the dirt on your shoes, proclaiming that _we ___have to do this and that at just the right fucking time...you make it all so complicated, but _we're_ the ones who suffer. It's _us_ who are beaten and tortured and _jesus_ , even killed, in your fumbling attempts to undo the mistakes _you_ made.

“God, do you even realize what you've put us through? What you've put _Sam_ through? And now you want to use him again? Just use him up until there's nothing left?” Dean fills his lungs with a deep, shuddering breath and lets it out. “No. I'm drawing the line. We quit. Between you and the goddamn demons, we've lost too much. You're not using me and you sure as hell are not using my brother.” The last few words were very hushed, yet firm. Dean had run out of energy. He was run down beyond anything he'd ever experienced. Of course he'd sacrifice himself for the greater good, but he wouldn't give them Sam. Sure, they weren't together or even talking at this point, but the kid's life had been complicated since he was six months old. He deserved so much more from this shitty life. He deserved a beautiful wife and lots of kids and a big house with a yard full of dogs. Not this short and painful excuse for an existence.

 _“Dean?”_ He could feel Alessa in his mind, softly reaching out to him. When he finally came back to the room, Dean realized that he was sitting on the couch with his head in his hands. The very epitome of someone weak and broken. And he hated it, but it was all he could do at the moment. He was trembling too badly to stand.

_“Yeah, darlin'?”_

_“This sucks.”_ He scoffed. She had been at least very tipsy when she'd come downstairs, and was now on her way to past-drunk, if the amount of scotch left in the bottle she was holding was any indication. She was still sitting slumped against the kitchen cabinets, looking at him with empathy. Not sympathy. He knew she understood how life could cut down those you love. How no matter how fiercely you try to protect them, they end up with the same doomed end anyway.

 _“You're not wrong.”_ She snorted out loud.

_“I think I'm drunk, Dean. And also not human. Or half not human. I'm half douchebag angel.”_

_“Sam's part demon, and he's still the best person I know. If that helps.”_

_“You can be so down on him that you don't trust him to have your back, but you still defend his honor like Martin Luther King touting civil rights.”_ Dean found himself nodding, but stopped midway and looked sideways at her.

_“How do you know all that?”_

_“It's possible I took an unintentional trip through your mind last night while we were sleeping. Sorry.”_ She had the grace to try looking sheepish about it, but she was now very drunk and looked more like a child who'd been caught with her hand in the cookie jar was only sorry to have been caught. Dean didn't even have the energy to be upset.

 _“Whatever.”_ She shrugged and took another gulp, staring everyone down and daring them to say anything to either of them. As it was, Bobby was squinting at the Asaph gospel while sneakily assessing Dean with mildly stern, but wholly concerned glances. Cas was standing awkwardly in the doorway between the foyer and the living room unabashedly staring at Dean, and Eloa was looking off into the distance like she was listening to something no one else could hear.

She was the first to break the silence.

“Look, it seems like impossible odds mounting up before you, I know. I've been quietly plotting against my brothers and sisters for centuries. But, if we'd intervened before now, another set of events would have still sprung Lucifer from his cage, and there would be no one to stop him. To save your race. You are God's ultimate creations. You are flawed and imperfect, but so, so strong. I believe in the heights you can reach. I want you to have that chance,” she still looked unmoved, but her voice betrayed her. It was thick with emotion and a weariness too deep and painful for Dean to fathom. She was telling the truth. “Father spoke directly to Asaph about this prophecy, He could see how this _had_ to go, and even then I travelled through every time stream trying to find an alternative. There just isn't one. There's just you and Alessa and Sam.” She was looking straight into Dean's eyes, and her pain-filled ones matched his. “I'm sorry,” she offered softly.

“Sweetheart, 'sorry' will never be enough.” Dean sighed and leaned back so his head was resting on the back of the couch. He'd just agreed to whatever this plan was, and in doing that, he was pretty sure he'd just condemned them all to die bloody. Including Sam. _Fuck._

***

Eloa went over to Bobby to discuss the text he was trying to read, and Cas just stood there, looking like he was five seconds from winging himself somewhere that was anywhere but here. Alessa couldn't blame him. If she had wings, she would be at least a continent away by now.

But all she had was two angels on the run, a grumpy old drunkard, and a weird mind link with the only person containing more self-loathing than her. And the drunkard's alcohol. Out of everything, right at that moment, the alcohol was her favorite. She blearily looked up at Eloa, and waited to speak until the room righted itself. Or lefted itself. It was tilting dangerously to the right and Bobby should really get that checked out...

“Alessa, are you alright?” Cas asked. _Did I say that out loud?_

“Yeah, you did,” Dean answered vocally without opening his eyes or lifting his head from the couch. “And 'drunk you' can't keep your own thoughts and the ones you want to aim at me separate for shit.”

“Sorry,” Alessa both thought and said. Dean flinched. Maybe she was being too loud. Then something dawned on her. “So, m'dad's an angel?” she slurred slightly. Eloa looked up from Bobby's desk and tilted her head.

“What made you come to that conclusion?” the angel asked.

“Well, mom's dead,” she said matter-of-factly, her tongue only slightly getting caught on the 'L' sound in 'well'. She feels proud of that. “An' I'm pretty sure angels don' die a'heart failure.”

“Are you sure you want to be drunk for this conversation, Alessa? I can...”

“No. You're not taking away th'ffects of this t'rrible scotch. I need,” Alessa looked down at her fingers wrapped around the neck of the bottle and felt very small and vulnerable. Though, the alcohol helped a bit. Liquid courage and all that. “I need ta feel less to, to talk about this.”

“Very well.” The petite angel came back into the kitchen and sat down in front of her, crossing her legs in a mimicry of Alessa. “Your mother was an angel. She was chosen as the one to birth you. You had to come from a very specific bloodline in order to be able to connect with Dean just as he had to be born from certain bloodlines to be the vessel for Michael _and_ to connect with you. Same with Sam. Your mother, Serafina,” Alessa still flinched at the mention of her name. She righted this by taking another sip, “and your father were to fall in love. And they did. This wasn't just an arranged pairing, they loved each other tremendously. Just as you remember. Your mother gave you the love and nurturing and grace, and then she had to leave you in your father's care to learn to be more like him. Ruthless and cunning. A warrior.”

Alessa's face crumpled, but she didn't let any tears fall. Despite the steady stream of scotch into her system, this information was sobering her. “She _chose_ to leave me?”

“No, Alessa, that's how it had to be. Otherwise you wouldn't be rightly prepared to fulfill your destiny.” A cold touch of anger ignited in her belly. Dean raised his head and looked at her, feeling it inside of him as well.

“So, everything I went through was prearranged? _Everything?_ Even...” Alessa couldn't get the words out. It was unfathomable. Heaven had stood by and let her be tortured and _raped_ so she would become their little weapon for mankind?

“ _No_ , Alessa, no! Not that.” Eloa sounded positively horrified. “We didn't know that would happen, and for some reason, we didn't see it until after you'd been found.”

“So a few thugs were able to best _angels_? I don't believe you.” Her voice had gone cold, and while her face was still flushed, her eyes were bright and clear.

“It's true, though. But...” Eloa trailed off and shook her head, pressing her eyes closed. It was perhaps the most human thing Alessa had ever seen the angel do. “We have theories about it, it was...never mind. If we had known what was happening, we would have stepped in. Your mother _would_ have stopped it,” she said determinedly.

“Fine. So my mother is still alive? She just fucked off back to heaven so I could harden into the mess I am today?” Eloa lowered her gaze to the floor and shook her head.

“No, she was found out and executed last year. I'm sorry.” Alessa put her hand beneath Eloa's chin and raised her head until she could look the angel in the eyes. She had to know if she was lying. If this was just another ploy in the apparent lifelong list of them to get her to go along with them. But the sheer amount of despair shining through was enough proof, and as a tear slipped down Eloa's cheek, Alessa couldn't handle it anymore.

“Your apologies mean nothing. Too little, too fucking late.” Alessa pressed the palms of her hands into her eyes to stave off the tears. It was somehow worse this way. To know that her mother hadn't died all those years ago but recently.

It hurt more than she could have imagined. To lose her mother twice. She moved her hands and waited until the spots from the pressure on her eyes left her vision. Looking at Eloa, she held out her hand and said, “Make me sober.” Eloa gripped her hand firmly and the rush of warmth brought her deadened senses back full force. She stood and calmly walked up the stairs, gathered her belongings, and left without another word. _“Just don't die or anything stupid like that,” ___she heard Dean ground out lowly as she started up her car. After sending a quick, _“Yeah, whatever.”_ back, Alessa shielded her mind so tightly it gave her a headache.

***

“Every time I think angels might not be the worst company to have, you go and prove me wrong.” Dean had resumed his reclined position on the couch, trying to ignore the gut-wrenching pain lingering in his chest from Alessa.

“This was not a choice, Dean. This had to happen, if you don't see that by now, then you must be blind.” Eloa was losing her calm demeanor and her desperation to be understood was winning out. Dean sat up and looked at her.

“I understand being backed into a corner, but willingly leaving your kid and letting her think you died is still awful.”

“Serafina sacrificed more than you could ever know. Alessa doesn't have to understand. She just has to know her mother loved her.” Anger coursed through Dean, and he quickly rose and strode over to Eloa to invade her space.

“She knew that before you told her that her mother thought she was only worthy of being left behind to learn how to kill without feeling bad about it.” Dean could still feel Alessa's anger and knew that this was leftovers from that, but he couldn't control it. And, to be honest, he didn't want to. It felt good to argue.

“Wouldn't you do anything within your power to save your planet? Your race?”

“Not at the expense of my family.”

“Would you two idjits shut up an' focus here?” Bobby was looking between Dean and Eloa with a disarming glare. Eloa even had the grace to look admonished.

“What do you need, Bobby?” she asked, moving away from Dean and over to the desk.

“The part about the 'final joining' ritual. What does this say about that?”

“Dean and Alessa have to perform a ritual, it's quite simple really, to permanently link their souls together. It's the only way they'll be able to generate enough power to feed The Savior of All during the final battle.”

“I still haven't agreed to bring Sam back in for this,” Dean muttered.

“I may be trying to save your race, but that does not mean that I will bow to your will, Dean. I am still an angel, more powerful than your Castiel, and I will not hesitate to go around you. If you will not reach out to your brother, then I will. You might not be willing to risk him to save the world, but I would bet that he would feel differently.” The tiny angel was seething.

“You'd force him? Force us to help you?” They were face to face once again, breathing each other's air in angry huffs. Eloa's green eyes were burning brightly into Dean's.

“Of course not, I believe in free will just as you do, but I know how you two think. He would give himself over to the fight just as you would, but you would let the world burn to save the other. Am I right?” She was using very precise pronunciations, like she was calm, but that was just an illusion. She was instead very close to losing her temper. Dean just had to poke at her a little more...

“I thought I told you two to SHUT UP!” Bobby thundered, breath heaving. Dean's head snapped up in attention toward Bobby, who had used a tone of voice very similar to that of his father's. The voice that had trained him to obey for most of his life. He faintly realized that Bobby had been trying to talk to them during their... _disagreement_.

“Bobby--,” Dean started.

“No, you're gonna listen t'me an' listen good, boy. An' you too, little lady,” he said, giving both Dean and Eloa a glare perfectly loaded with equals parts of disdain and anger. “The world is _endin'_ pretty soon, an' if it goes sideways, we're all gonna be kissin' our backsides goodbye. So it's high time to pull our heads outta our asses an' figure out what we're gonna do about it,” he managed to ground out in a controlled, yet mocking manner. “Dean, you're gonna call Sam an' explain what's goin' on. Uh uh,” he shook his head as soon as Dean drew in air to protest. “You've decided to be in this fight. I've decided to be in this fight. Sam gets to decide for himself.” Eloa looked at Dean with a triumphant, albeit subtly, look on her angelic, pixie-like face.

“An' as for you,” he turned his attention to Eloa. “Whatever Sam decides is what Sam'll do. He says no, he stays out. Understood?” He raised his eyebrows at the millenia-old being like a father who had to explain to his kid why it shouldn't put its hand on the hot stove. Eloa nodded, mutely, seemingly chastised, but she still had a small, crooked grin on her face that meant she was amused. And also humoring the grumpy mortal.

“Fine, I'll call Sam in the morning,” Dean said, scrubbing a hand across his days-old stubble. His temper had deflated and left him once again sagging and exhausted. He turned to Eloa and sighed. “What's this ritual do, anyway?”

“You and Alessa must freely give a small sacrifice of your blood in my Father's name and say the unity incantation together. Only a few herbs must be burnt as you say it. As far as rituals go, it's fairly straightforward and standard.”

“Well, everything up to this point has been so easy, I'd have expected nothing less,” Dean huffs out a humorless laugh.

“The complicated part comes after, Dean,” Castiel speaks up. He'd remained quiet during the dispute, and Dean had almost forgotten he was there. “You will always have Alessa in your head, as she will have you. It's permanent. If we win, it won't fade or disconnect. It will be infinitely more substantial, and difficult to ignore. You'll be able to separate without sickness, and you will both wield more strength, but it's very likely that if something happens to one of you, the other will perish as well.” Dean sat down. Eloa gave Castiel a stern look, but he just stared flatly back at her.

“He must know the entire truth before essentially giving up his life for this. Full disclosure is a facet of free will, as I have learned since I fell. You have fought for so long, Sister, perhaps you forget exactly what it is you are fighting for,” Castiel said quietly, his eyes going soft. A long moment passes as Castiel and Eloa seemingly stare each other down, and then, just as quickly as it had started, it was over. Eloa turned back to Bobby and gave him small smile.

“Let's see what ingredients we will need to procure while Dean makes up his mind.”

“What about Alessa?” Bobby asked.

“She will return to us. All of this is bringing up things in her life she never wished to fully face. Regretfully, part of that is my fault, I now see,” Eloa says looking first at Castiel and then Dean. “But, she will come back. There are those she loves who still exist in this world, and she will readily fight for them.”

“C'mon then, girl. I have some dried fireweed, but I'm fresh outta blessed lamb's blood.” Bobby and Eloa disappear toward the basement, leaving Castiel to look on as Dean tries to make an impossible yet simple decision.

***

Alessa had been driving for three hours. It was still dark out, so it was still night, but beyond that, she hadn't even looked at the clock on her dash. If she had it her way, she'd just drive continuously day and night until she drove herself into the Pacific Ocean. Or she'd park her car lovingly in the shade, send Dean a quick message about coming to get it, and then just jump off a cliff. Her baby and most loyal companion didn't deserve a watery death.

She'd chosen west on a whim. Too many memories were circling in her head, and the direction seemed the only thing on which she could focus. South brought back memories of Joey being ripped to shreds, east held the ghosts of her former life, and north, well. Actually, north hadn't even entered her mind. To be fair, she was shielding from Dean so hard at that moment, that she'd probably cut off other things in the process. Things like north and fish and plastic and cabbage.

Insignificant things.

As it was, however, gasoline wasn't insignificant, no matter how large and overtaking other thoughts in her brain had become in the last few hours. The gas station she pulled into looked to be straight out of a horror flick. Complete with one auto repair bay that hadn't seen any repairs in a decade at least and only two pumps. Which did not take credit cards. With slightly trembling hands, which to be fair was perfectly acceptable considering she'd almost crashed multiple times in the first hour from how badly they were shaking, she pulled a few bills from her glove box and made her way inside.

The place smelled faintly of cleaner, even though most things were covered in a thin layer of dust. No one was behind the tiny counter, which was lined with a small collection of Little Debbie cakes most certainly beyond their sell-by date.

“Hello?” she called out, searching the store for signs of life. Or death. Such was her luck, she figured. “Hello??” she tried once again. She turned...and found herself face to face with a skinny middle-aged man dressed in overalls and a Budweiser cap. Or, she was face to face with him before she caught him in the cheek with a right cross.

“Jesus christ, lady! The fuck's your problem?!” the man yelled from the floor, his hand cupping his jaw in pain. She offered him a hand, which he flinched back from at first as if he was afraid she would have a go at his nose next. He finally took it and stood back up, straightening his hat and frowning.

“You snuck up on me,” she said matter-of-factly, shrugging. “Sorry.” Alessa wasn't sorry.

“You're not sorry,” he said accusingly, but with little heat. He seemed to be getting over it rather quickly.

“Not really. Like I said, you snuck up on me.”

“Not on purpose.”

“Either way.” They stared at each other for a second before he stepped around the end of the counter and settled himself on a stool in front of the register. Although, he did scoot it back out of range of her fists.

“What'd you want?”

“Gas. Fifty dollars of it.” She slid the money across the counter.

“On which pump?” The man, his overalls stated his name was 'Jerry', but she didn't know if they actually still belonged to a Jerry, was trying to make up for being knocked down by a girl with his snottiness.

“The only one with a car next to it.” This had been such a terrible day, and this asshole was asking for her to take her frustrations out on him. He rolled his eyes and took her money, punching in numbers on the register with a very slow caution. “Look, can you hurry up? I'm sorry your jaw is sore, but you should invest in some squeaky shoes or something if you're gonna be that quiet when you move.”

Jerry's eyes tightened fractionally as he looked up at her, his sore jaw working as he clenched his teeth. “You better watch how you talk to folk around here. They don't take kindly to rude strangers.”

“Fine.” Alessa sighed. She was beyond tired. Weary? Exhausted? No. That didn't even cover it. Done. She was just _done_. “Please just let me pump my gas. I'll remember your advice for the five minutes it takes me to drive through your town and out the other side of it.” He just shook his head and finished ringing her up wordlessly. Receipt in hand, she stepped back into the crisp air and shivered. She should have figured out where to go by now. Her brain kept telling her that this was not how she operated. Running off with no plan or direction was always a bad idea, but the other part of her, her heart if she was being honest, was torn to pieces and lying heavily in her chest cavity. Pain still shot out from it as if electric current was being passed through her every so often. It felt like her heart was still trying to beat and mend itself despite being utterly destroyed. Anxiety would hit if she didn't calm down.

She started pumping her gas. She would be damned, more so than usual, if she let that asshole, _Jerry_ , witness her having a panic attack.

She got back in her car and took a few deep breaths. She closed her eyes and waited until her pulse stopped hammering through her body and the urge to vomit had passed. Now that her mind was a bit quieter, she felt someone knocking on her doors. The ones that shielded her from Dean. Imagining herself opening them a crack, she asked, _“Yes?”_

_“Just making sure you're okay.”_

_“I'm not. I just punched a guy in the face, though.”_ She opened the doors more and could feel Dean there.

_“Are you at that gas station outside of Chamberlain? I can kind of see you, a bit. It's weird, though. Like looking through fogged glass.”_

_“Yeah, the attendant is a sneaky bastard. Came out of nowhere.”_ Dean huffed out an almost-laugh.

 _“Listen, we need to talk when you feel like you can. Soon-ish if possible.”_ Of course they did. She hated everything. Jumping off a cliff still seemed like the best option.

_“The angels would just bring you back, I'm sure.”_

_“Whatever. I'll stop somewhere tomorrow. I'll call you then.”_ Alessa started her car and pulled out of the parking lot.

_“Okay. Don't die or anything stupid like that.”_

_“Yeah.”_ She closed her shield back up again and was alone again. The road was once again quiet and empty save for her. It was reminiscent of the drive to Bobby's, and if she could, she would be tempted to go back to that time and run away. Learn to deal with the sickness from being away from Dean and let the world fricassee.

Alessa never would, if she could do something about it, but it was still a nice thought to entertain. Anything to keep her thoughts away from her mother. Her true lineage. Her mother. Her destiny. Her mother.

Marcus.

 

Her mother.

All the people who mattered were gone. Out of her life. She thought about the way her mother's eyes crinkled at the edges when she was smiling a truly happy smile. The steel in her gaze when someone got caught on her bad side. The way Joey would never be afraid to tell her when she was wrong and then calmly explain all the reasons why. Her soldiers lying in pieces, too mixed up to tell which body parts belonged to whom. Her mother's (not, she knew now) dead body lying in a sleek, black casket at her funeral, surrounded by an array of colorful flowers and collages of pictures from her life.

She could see Marcus' lips tilted up in an amused smile around a cigarette after they'd slept together for the first time, feel him kiss her temple as they drifted into slumber. Memories of her mother beaming at her with blinding pride as Alessa bowed on stage after every dance performance.

Her mind was hemorrhaging memories, drifting in a sea of past moments, both good and terrible. Gravel and dust flew into the air as she jerked her car off the road too quickly and stomped the brake pedal. She half fell out of the driver's seat and into the dirt beside the road, kneeling and pulling her head into her thighs with both hands. It was too much. Her head was splitting open and nothing could stop her life from flowing into the world for all to see.

Alessa ceased to feel the rocks digging into her knees after a few minutes. The pressure in her head was too much to bear and reality started to get fuzzy around the edges. Just as she felt herself starting to (thankfully) lose consciousness, something new happened. Memories again started playing out in front of her eyes, but they weren't hers. It was as if she was living someone else's life in fragmented bits. Then the strangers she seemed to be interacting with and places she found herself gained names. She knew them, felt the familiarity of these people and locations.

One moment began to shine above the rest—relief. The most heart-stoppingly, beautiful sense of relief fell over her as Alessa watched a very tall, dark-haired man, no—boy, he was still (always would be) a boy—step out of a cabin bedroom asking what happened. Then they were hugging. All of the despair, a despair so great she didn't even know she could contain such grief, melted away as she squeezed him as if she could protect him forever from all the danger in the world.

This was Sam. She was living in Dean's memories. And then she knew...everything. The death of Dean's father in exchange for his life, Dean's childhood, freely damning his soul to save Sam, Sam's shocked expression as a knife was plunged into his spine. Decades of torture in hell, followed by ten long years of satisfaction found in ripping and tearing souls apart until nothing remained. Gleefully relishing their screams and cries and reveling in the feel of blood and viscera on his hands, the smell of it sharp and rewarding in his nostrils.

Those memories came last. Dean's darkest secrets. She could sense his overwhelming guilt and the belief ingrained in his very bones that he'd never be able to atone for it all.

Alessa rolled onto her side and listened to the gentle breeze brushing through the dead leaves. Her breaths were coming out in short pants as her mind tried and failed to catalog all of this new information. The ceaseless pounding in her skull was worse than any hangover or concussion she'd ever endured.

Some time passed with Alessa still in a fetal position on the side of the road, her limbs tingling from hyperventilation. Slowly, her lungs stopped heaving for oxygen, and although the pounding slightly lessened, an overwhelming fatigue settled over her trying to drag her down into sleep. But, she would not let herself sleep on the side of the road in the dirt. Alessa might be considered an hybrid abomination (if her memory of religious lore served her right,—or Dean's memory of it. At this point, she wasn't very sure of anything—the nephilim were all put to death after they demonstrated a penchant for instability), but she was not going to let herself lie beside the road and sleep like roadkill.

Slowly, she sat up and waited for the world to come completely into focus. Once it had, she pulled herself up and back into her car. Again, she was out of breath, but she was upright. That was an improvement. The drive she had intended to make had no real destination, but she needed more space between herself and the insanity in Sioux Falls, so she started up her car and pulled back onto the blacktop.

She'd gone about seventy miles when the need for rest became too great and she had to stop for coffee. The emergency pack of Marlboro Reds in her glove box had been chain-smoked until it was half empty, and her lungs and throat ached from the abuse. She was washing her hands and face in the dim restroom of yet another grimy gas station and trying to ignore the growing fatigue from being so far away from Dean when she felt the air charge around her. The lights began to flicker and the fine hairs on the back of her neck stood in attention. She pulled a knife from her jacket and turned to face the rest of the room, head suddenly cleared by adrenaline.

“Hello again, my dear,” a familiar deep voice said into her ear. Alessa spun, slashing at the same time, only to be blocked by a meaty forearm. Looking up into the face of her attacker, she froze, fear and agony filling her mind.

Marcus placed his giant hands on her shoulders and gave her his trademark roguish smirk, but his usually twinkling eyes were completely black. The demon's grotesque face kept flashing into her vision just beneath Marcus' skin.

Just before she could start with an exorcism, any exorcism, the demon forced her back against the wall so hard she had to struggle to draw breath. The black in his eyes bled away, and he stepped forward, picking up Alessa's knife from the floor where she'd dropped it and sliding it into his belt.

“I think we need to have a chat. In private,” he said, his face inches from hers. He slid his hand down her cheek in a mockery of affection. “What do ya say, dolcezza?” At that, the name Marcus had called her since they were children, the cold fear melted into white hot anger. How dare this demon take the only pure thing left in Alessa's life and taint it with sulfur and wickedness?

“I'm going to give you one chance to get out of him,” she wheezed out, coughing afterward. Which really took the steam out of her threat, but she was so full of rage, she was sure her eyes were spitting fire. He laughed and stepped back, letting her drop to the floor, gasping for breath.

“Or you'll what? Fail once more to protect a meat suit you care for? Try to burn me out with your angry expressions? Tell me,” he mocked.

“I swear I'll find a way to rip you apart before I kill you. Slowly and methodically. I'll devote my whole life to it,” she said, rising to her feet once more.

“I'm sure you would, but let me make you a counter offer. We go somewhere and have a nice, one-sided conversation, and if you meet my terms, I'll leave your _Caro Mio_ living when I'm done with him.”

She let her iron knife drop into her palm from her wrist sheath and was on him in a split second, driving the blade to the hilt into his arm, chanting the quickest exorcism she knew.

The demon shrieked, but recovered quickly, using his invisible forces to knock her back into the wall again, silencing her. He pulled the knife from his arm and placed that one in his belt as well as he stalked toward her, all pretense of friendliness erased from his features. One well placed punch caught her in the jaw, bracketing her head back into the wall. Dazed, she only had time to open her shields up a small bit and mutter Dean's name before Marcus' fist fell once again and dropped her all the way into unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, sorry for the wait, to those who are still following this story. There will only be two, at most three, more chapters. I hope you enjoyed, and I have the next chapter outlined, so hopefully it won't be too long of a wait for the next one. No promises, though. By now you know how I am.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading and please leave a comment if you have anything to say/criticism to give. :)


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